


Till Death Do Us Part

by jihoonesque (syubear)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syubear/pseuds/jihoonesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>auribus teneo lupum…</b><br/><i>And as Death held me close, he told me two things:</i><br/><i>Danger lies in beauty, my child.</i><br/><i>There are always those who are beyond salvation.</i><br/> <br/>You, a servant of Death, have received your next target: Yoon Jeonghan.</p>
<p>***This is a really dark fic, though, involving death, violence, rape, and abuse. If you are triggered by any of these, please do not read, or read with caution.</p>
<p>***Heavily inspired by <i>Grave Mercy</i> by Robin LaFevers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **nightmare** – n; a frightening or unpleasant dream, a terrifying or very unpleasant experience or prospect
> 
> origin:  
> night, meaning night, or darkness;  
> mare, referring to a ghost, goblin, or demon that comes during the night and either suffocates or rapes people in their sleep

Night.

It can be envisioned and portrayed in so many different ways.

There is the calm night, a dark blanket with a peaceful breeze gliding gently across skin. It comes with faint tickles as hair blows, whispered secrets among friends and lovers under the cover of a dark sky.

There is the ominous night, a crack of thunder amidst a downpour so violent that _sight_ and _visibility_ become meaningless words. Winds and heavy rain tear down trees, houses, people.

Scientists call them “natural disasters.” They go on and on about wind speeds and air pressure and give names and numbers to arbitrary occurrences of swirling air and water.

Normal people call them nightmares. What else can they be? A funnel of wind hitting you out of nowhere, tearing apart your home and your family; thunderstorms so violent giant trees are strewn everywhere; earthquakes that leave behind nothing but rubble and crushed bodies; tsunamis that bury everything in a blanket of water, returning the earth to the state it was in millions of years ago, before life moved to land—they are but nightmares.

But of course, not all of these nightmares occur at night. Aren’t nightmares supposed to be night terrors? Why, then, do we use the word so freely even in broad daylight?

Simple.

People have always been afraid of the night.

Which is why there is the third kind of night: deceptively calm. It is the calm night under which unspeakable misfortunes occur—theft, rape, torture, death.

The reason why people find it so frightening is that while the victims are suffering, the rest of the population has no idea. For them, it is just another calm night.

Calm.

Peaceful.

Happy.

Ignorant.

Some prefer it that way.

It is a warm summer night, with the stars shining bright overhead. It is a night perfect for celebrations.

Two men lean over an unmoving body in a nature trail, hidden among a copse of trees in the dead of night. The girl’s white-and-blue floral patterned dress is torn and caked with mud and dirt.

“Is she dead?” the taller man whispers, crouching beside her and slapping her cheeks roughly. No movement, no flicker of pain, no response whatsoever.

The other man stands above them, adjusting his pants. “Probably,” he replies, kicking at the girl. She’s turned over to her side with the force of the kick, but there’s no sign of life left in her.

“Then our job is done,” the first man says, standing up. “Let’s go.”

With one final kick at the girl’s body, the second man wordlessly follows his partner.

They don’t notice the little girl hidden in the bushes, watching them silently. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t dare cry out, for fear that they’ll hear her and do to her what they did to the girl. Tears flow down her cheeks, and it’s only when she can no longer see them that she lets out a choked sob. She runs over to the dead girl’s body, kneeling next to her on the grass.

She cries herself hoarse, not noticing that all the life in the forest has suddenly gone silent. It’s not until her sobs die down that she takes in the quiet surroundings, not even a cricket to be heard.

There’s a rustling sound behind her, and she flinches, turning around.

Behind her is a man dressed in all black. His skin is the color of the night sky above, his eyes twinkling like the stars. His hair, long and flowy, reaches his shoulders in thick waves.

“Ah,” says the man, crouching down beside her. His voice is smooth as velvet, soothing even as her heart beats wildly. Every instinct tells her to run, to get away from him—but she can’t. She won’t. Instead, she sits and stares at him. “I’m sorry, child.”

“Who are you?” the girl asks.

“Who I am isn’t important right now,” he says.

She follows his gaze to the girl lying lifelessly in front of her. “Those men—they—” she chokes out.

“I know,” the man sighs. Finally, _finally_ , he turns to her. “How old are you, child?”

“Nine,” the girl replies, sitting up straight. People always call her little, and child, but she’s nine. Almost ten, and that means she’s almost a big kid.

“Nine,” he repeats darkly, his hand fingering his chin thoughtfully. “What they did to you is unforgivable. Truly the scum of this earth.”

“To me?” she asks. She looks down at the girl, takes in her clothes. And then looks at herself. She’s wearing the same dress, also ripped and dirty. Her hair is the same; her hands are the same.

The man watches her, a pitying smile on his face. But not condescendingly; his eyes are kind as they focus on her.

“Oh,” she breathes.

The man pulls a notebook out from his jacket. Its covers and sides are worn, the papers no longer crisp. He flips through the pages impatiently until he comes across the one he’s looking for, scanning it with a finger. “It’s not your time yet,” he says quietly.

But his words ring in her ear as if he has shouted them.

_It’s not her time yet._

_She’s not supposed to be dead._

She turns in horror to the dead body lying in front of her— _her_ body—and, hand shaking, reaches out to poke her arm.

Her hand passes through the arm with no resistance.

She tries again. And again. And again.

“Stop, child,” the man says tiredly. His hand grabs her wrist gently, but his grip is strong; she can’t budge.  “Look at me.”

She freezes and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Despite who I am, I cannot simply bring you back to life. You are, after all, no longer among the living. And that has been recorded.” He says it softly, indicating at his book. She already knows it, but tears stream down her cheeks anyway. “Thus, I can only offer you two choices: to come to me as my Daughter, or to pass through.”

“What would I do…as your Daughter?”

“You would serve me,” he says simply. “I will warn you now that it will not be an easy task. It will be a long and difficult road, even gruesome at times. But I believe that you have what it takes. And what’s more, you will be able to bring judgment to people like those two men.”

“You mean I would punish them?”

“Yes. Them, and those like them.”

She takes a deep breath, looking at her dead body one last time.

“I’ll do it.”


	2. Part 1

###  Words: 7,410

This is not a love story.

This is a story of broken souls. Of shattered spirits trying to pick themselves up and piece themselves back together, one broken shard at a time.

This is not a beautiful story.

People seem to think that broken things are beautiful. They are not. They are jagged, sharp, _raw_. They hurt if you get too close.

And they don’t need pity.

Y/N brushes off the stares—or glares, really, or just looks of disgust—as she hitches her backpack higher on her back and jams her earphones in. She knows people are taking in her entirely black outfit: leggings, shirt, leather jacket, beanie, boots. The only thing that’s not black is her scarf—it’s maroon, and she loves it. In a town where people are always dressed in colors so bright it makes her want to squint, Y/N sticks out like a sore thumb. Not to mention her long, unkempt hair that suggests she gives absolutely zero fucks. Who knows how many knots there are today? Actually—no, she put on a beanie, so honestly, she knows her hair looks good today despite that fact that she hasn’t bothered washing or even brushing it in—what is it, three days now? Four?

She couldn’t care less, really. Because it’s not as though people are staring at her because she’s absolutely, undeniably _good_ today (although she is). It’s more because of who she _is_. Y/N doesn’t understand why she couldn’t have been placed in a big city. In the small town of Asphyxia—ironically named, as though the founders of the place had meant for this little town to be the uptight, oppressive place that it is; she still smirks every time she hears it—she feels judged, suffocated. Like she can’t even take a shit without people whispering about her. Being an orphan is enough to be the source of gossip and false rumors in every corner of this godforsaken place. Being an orphan who “acts up” is what earns her stares and mothers dragging their children across the street just to avoid walking next to her.

Of course, it’s not like Y/N is _actually_ an orphan. Neither does she act up; she just so happens to have enough self-respect to not take slander or disrespect from anyone, and people naturally assume she’s a rotten apple. She lets it slide; it’s the easiest way to explain why she’s been alone all these years, with no parental or other adult supervision. What is she supposed to say, _Oh, I’m not an orphan; I’m actually dead and out killing people for my boss, and you can’t do this without hardening yourself_? No thanks.

She exhales as she kicks at a pebble on the ground in front of her. Y/N can deal with the hate directed at her—it’s what she’s grown up with her whole life, anyway. In the end, it doesn’t matter, because she’ll be gone soon.

Her life is a giant cycle of being plucked from a place, trying to get comfortable, finding her subject, completing her job, and moving again. It’s endless.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

So far she has already located her target, a twenty-two year old serial rapist by the name of Stephen. He’s despicable. Y/N has enrolled herself in the same university as him, and has spent time studying him. He’s a tutor—fifteen dollars an hour—but from what she’s seen, rather than teach the students, all he does is lean too close and make small talk.

He has a routine. Stephen meets his students—classmates, really, and always a girl—in one of the cafes on campus, and that’s where they spend a half hour actually trying to make progress and studying. Then he buys two drinks, one of which he stirs in a little bit of powder and hands it to the girl. He’ll suggest taking a walk outside for “fresh air,” and when she falls unconscious at a very particular bench in a secluded area of the nearby park, he’ll take her to his dorm room and go about his business.

It honestly boggles Y/N how so few people have reported him. It’s because no one speaks up that he continues to get victims—no one knows to watch out for him. She supposes, though, that in this small town, word gets around fast. And it’s stupid, but people look down on the victim—as if it’s _their_ fault for getting raped.

Ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Stephen and the million other Stephens in the world go on with their lives, unpunished, unremorseful.

But of course, they can’t— _won’t_ —go unpunished forever. That is Y/N’s sole purpose in life (death?), and she will never be done.

She hums and hitches her bag up again, quickening her pace as the wind picks up and pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. It’s mid-December, and leaves crunch under her black combat boots. She sighs; it’s tiresome, but she still needs to pretend to be a normal college student and blend in, waiting for the perfect opportunity to close in on Stephen and strike. And she’ll look good while doing it.  
Y/N has managed to get herself in the same math class as him, and after two weeks, she’s asked him for help. He seemed happy, giving her a smile most other girls would have fallen for, with his dark chestnut hair and vibrant green eyes, smile revealing a front tooth _just_ crooked enough to be the one imperfection in an otherwise perfect face. 

But Y/N doesn’t buy it.

She sits down in class, at the back corner. It’s her usual spot, chosen because no one sits this far back and because it gives her a good view of the entire class. Y/N sets her bag down, sighing. Whoever thought it was a good idea to have classes at eight in the morning is an abomination to mankind.

Y/N’s head jerks up as she hears the chair next to her being pulled out. It’s Stephen. “Hey,” he greets her with his usual peppy attitude.

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him. She’s not really one for unnecessary words.

“I saw you sitting back here,” he continues as he fishes a notebook and a pencil from his bag. “And we were supposed to meet up after class anyway, so I thought it would make sense to just leave together later.”

“We were supposed to meet up at five,” she corrects him, flipping open her empty notebook and twirling her pencil. She glances at her watch. “It is currently eight-oh-three A.M.”

Stephen seems unperturbed, which irks Y/N. “This is my only class today, so I thought I could just wait for you.”

It’s true; this is the only class he has today. Y/N rolls her eyes. “What, and follow me to all my classes? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Isn’t this the kind of thing that girls like?” Stephen asks, looking genuinely puzzled. Y/N almost feels sorry for him in all his ignorant, privileged glory.

“Maybe, but not me,” she all but growls at him.

Before he has the chance to respond, though, the professor walks in and begins addressing the class. Y/N pretends to diligently take notes, and after a few minutes, Stephen follows suit. Fortunately, he doesn’t try to make further conversation with her during class. Or rather, he does, but she ignores him completely, and the minute class is dismissed (at 8:49—the professor must have been as eager to leave as she was), she grabs her bag and storms out the door without a word to Stephen.

Her breaths come out in little puffs in the air as she stomps across campus. Despite her angry attitude, she appreciates the small wonders that life gives. She’s tired of people, of dealing with people, but nature is beautiful. It can be harsh, but there’s an elegance that can always be associated with nature, a kind of melancholy. Like the way the leaves fall in autumn, turning ordinary sidewalks into colorful fiery paths, or the smell of pumpkin and cinnamon and warm spices. Or the sight of undisturbed snow in winter, or little puffs in the air, or peppermint and chocolate and colorful lights. It brings her peace to be reminded that humanity is not entirely hopeless.

Truthfully, Y/N has nowhere to go either, because there’s no point in going to any of her other classes. The moment she finishes her assignment—which will be _today_ —she’ll move on to another target, another place. _Quick and clean, silent, unseen_ —that is the way of the Daughters. It’s been drilled into her, through training and punishments. Finish your assignment as quickly and efficiently as possible, with as little words as possible. The more people you talk to, the more likely you are to be remembered, and that makes for messy situations.

Y/N veers off the sidewalk onto the grass, following a faintly worn path. Not many people would notice it if they were in a rush or if they had no particular reason to look for a path leading to nowhere in the grass. But Y/N has had enough time to explore campus to find that the path leads to a couple of storage buildings that, if she climbs up to the roof, provides an ideal hideout. On clear days she gets a good view of campus, of all the students milling about, without feeling claustrophobic.

The grassy area ends and she meets sidewalk again. Y/N places her bag in a cluster of bushes and squeezes between the two buildings. It’s just wide enough that she can stretch one arm straight out. She does just that, putting her left arm on the wall behind her and right leg on the wall in front. Just as she is about to reach for the crack in the brick above her head as her right handhold, a voice drawls, “Do you need help with that?”

Stephen.

“What are you doing here?” she asks him, jumping back onto the ground and turning to face him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He’s leaning against a wall, arms folded across his chest, looking as smug as ever.

He does, admittedly, look good with his wind-tossed hair and his confidence. Some might even say he’s _hot_ , but Y/N knows better. “Did you follow me here?”

“Maybe I did.” He’s still wearing that goddamn smirk and Y/N wants nothing more than to punch the living crap out of him until it disappears and he realizes what a pile of scum he is—but no, she needs to have patience. She won’t instigate anything unless it is to finish her task, which she isn’t planning on until later, anyway.

“Why?”

Stephen begins walking towards her, and instinctively she wants to move to put more distance between them, but she stands her ground. “I told you, I only had one class today.”

“And?” Y/N scans the area around them. It would be too messy if she bashes his head against the wall. The same goes for using the knife she has hidden in her waistband, but it would be hard to cleanly knock him out in such a tight space.

Hard, but not impossible.

Stephen stops directly in front of her—so close that she can see the loose threads on his shirt, and she’s forced to look up at him. “And you made me sad when you left class without even saying goodbye. I wanted to spend some time with you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What if I don’t want to spend time with you?”

He looks shocked at that; evidently, he thought she would have found his little façade sexy. But he recovers quickly and straightens up. “But you do,” he hisses, suddenly grabbing her and forcing her against the wall.

His hands are hot, burning, on her shoulders, and it takes all of Y/N’s effort to remain calm and still and not move into action and incapacitate him _right now_. “You have five seconds to let go of me,” she says through her clenched teeth. “Five.”

Stephen chuckles at that. “Cute. I’ve always liked the feisty ones.”

“Four.”

One of his hands leaves her shoulder to roam south, fingers trailing their way to her collarbone.

Y/N looks skyward, forcing herself to remain still. “Three.”

Stephen doesn’t let go, though. Instead, he continues, hands spending some time at her chest and then going to her stomach.

_I swear to Death and hells below, this boy is going to die slowly and painfully_. “Two.”

He stops at the waistband of her pants, snaking two fingers inside, ready to yank.

“One.”

The moment he tries to pull her pants down, Y/N spins into action. She grabs the hand in front of her, twisting it behind him and not caring when she hears his wrist snap. Y/N ignores his screams of pain as she kicks at his knees, making him lose his balance. She lands on top of him, knee digging into his lower back as she pulls his other hand behind him, pinning it beneath her foot. She hears his bones crunch and he screams again. She ignores that, too, and removes a small vial from a jacket pocket.

“What’s the matter, Stephen? I thought you liked feisty girls,” she purrs, leaning down to look at his face.

“What—are—you?” he pants out in ragged breaths, eyes wide with fear.

“Your road to hell,” she replies easily. “I hope you don’t need an explanation.”

“What do you mean, I don’t need an explanation?” he shouts at her as best as he can, considering his head is being held down and she’s hovering beyond his field of vision. “You crazy, psychotic _bitch_!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to start calling me names,” she chastises him, stepping harder on his hand. “If you really don’t know what you’ve done wrong…Emma, Brenda, Lily, Shreya, Nara. Does that jog some memories? You know what you did to them?”

He stays silent.

“All they wanted was help with homework. They just wanted good grades. And you drugged them and raped them and they’re all so ashamed of themselves because they got raped that they won’t tell anyone. And it’s ridiculous—you know why? Because none of this was _their_ fault; they shouldn’t be feeling like shit, and yet they are. Meanwhile here you are, the true pile of shit, and you walk around with your head held high, like you’ve done everything _right_. Like you deserve anyone’s _respect_.”

“Why didn’t they tell people, then? If it’s as you say, and this is all my fault? _They_ approached me first! And you should have seen them, Emma especially. If you saw her, you wouldn’t be here telling me she didn’t enjoy it at least a _little_ bit.”

“You’re revolting,” Y/N spits at him, realizing it’s not worth the effort to spell it out for him. “You deserve the deepest, darkest pits of hell where days stretch into months and they’re all filled with pain as you get it _pounded_ into you what you did wrong, how you did wrong, and the knowledge that you’re know suffering from it.”

She whacks him then, hard, on his temple, and he goes limp. She grabs his face, forcing his mouth open, and dumps the contents of the vial down his throat. Y/N lets go of him, standing up and capping the vial, putting the empty bottle back into her pocket. “I hope you enjoy your long, painful death.”

With a sigh, Y/N grabs the bag she had hidden away before she begins the tiring process of wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and supporting his body into a standing position. Y/N curses under her breath as she rummages through all her pockets before she finds what she is looking for: a thin piece of black chalk. Grunting, she shoves Stephen against the wall to lessen his dead weight as she draws a circle with a jagged slash through it across the bricks. As she finishes, she pushes away from the wall and watches as her drawing fills in with black, and then expands into a gaping inky blackness that stretches into the shape of a wooden black door, complete with a brass circular doorknob.

The first time she had seen this happen, she had been with Anne, her Older Sister and mentor. She had watched in amazement as Anne’s drawing turned into a door, still in shock from her first time killing a man—not _killing_ , Anne had corrected her, _Gleaning_. Now, though, she waits impatiently as she struggles against Stephen’s weight. When the door is ready, she grabs the knob and turns it, pushing as she does.

There was a time where stepping through to the complete darkness beyond had scared her witless to the point where Anne had had to shout at her to shut up and focus on walking forward. That was five years ago. Now, she’s done this so many times that she’s lost count, and she walks blindly until she spots the row of hovering torches. She follows the path they create for her, leading her to the Room. 

The Room is a rectangular room made completely of stone—stone floor, stone walls, stone ceiling. Y/N used to think it was a cave, but all the surfaces are too flat to be a natural cave. It’s also large; it reminds her of the throne rooms of castles told in children’s stories. The walls are lined with torches, drawing attention to the black hole at the far end of the room: the Chute. Whereas the initial blackness of the Door filling in was contained into a door, this blackness is a giant circle. It leads directly to the Judges, who would determine which hell the Gleaned would go to. None too gently, Y/N positions Stephen in front of the Chute and unwraps his arm from her shoulder.

Then she shoves him into the blackness.

Her job done, she exits the Room and takes a breath. As hard as she may try to hide it, it still shakes her a little with every assignment—every _Gleaning_. She still can’t think of it as anything but killing. But she knows that her assignments—that all of the Daughters’ assignments—were the lowest of the low in humanity: rapists, murderers, all of whom seemingly had no conscience. 

Y/N walks straight forward in the darkness, sure that it will guide her back home. Ten years ago, Death had taken her in as a Daughter. He had given her a new life in return for the one she had been taken from her that night—a new identity. He had taken her to the Academy, where she had been trained in both academics and combat. At thirteen, she was given an Older Sister, Anne, who was to make sure that she was ready for assignments.

Anne was kind, but she wasn’t easy to please. She was only two years older than Y/N, but that meant that she had two years’ worth of experience over Y/N. Anne drilled her on her language skills, constantly switching from language to language in a conversation. She also took on Y/N’s combat lessons directly, making sure Y/N was able to use almost every weapon ever invented, and know how to use anything as a weapon if disarmed. The only thing she never taught Y/N was how to use poisons—although Anne had never told her herself, rumor has it that Anne’s mother had drunk poison after poison to get rid of her, to no avail. Anne survived anyway, and then was suffocated to death the moment she was born.

Y/N can’t blame Anne for refusing to use poison except when absolutely necessary.

On the other hand, Y/N is rather fond of poisons. After finding out that she is one of the few Daughters who are immune (about only one-eighth are immune to poison, discovered by dosing new arrivals with a nonlethal amount of fever-inducing poison), she spends most of her free time with Dora, the poisons professor, in the brewery. In fact, she’s planning to head there right after reporting to Agnes, who runs the Academy.

The darkness clears, as if allowing Y/N to finish her thoughts before bringing her back to the world. She steps out to the front gates of the Academy, and she breathes in the smell of home as she knows it: the faint scent of incense from the combat gym, freshly baked cookies from the kitchen, the smell of pine trees. Sure, there might be a few people she dislikes here (she hates most of the girls, actually), but she knows that she’s welcome here, that she belongs here even though she’s an outcast and half the staff suddenly are tough graders when it’s her turn, but that’s okay—

“Hey Knucklehead, you’re back!” says a voice that Y/N would know anywhere.

Maurice, the person Y/N probably hates most in this entire place. Maurice had arrived two months later than Y/N, but unlike Y/N, has a deceptively bright personality that allowed her to make friends quickly and win over the hearts of all the professors. This got her special treatment—she had one-on-one lessons that allowed her to learn faster. Y/N wouldn’t have had a problem with Maurice, because the girl _is_ smart. She’s good, too, skilled in all the areas that matter. But she’s also aware of that fact, and likes to show off how much better she is than everyone else—most of all, Y/N. Maybe it’s because Y/N was the person who came right before Maurice, and so she feels pressured to prove that she’s better than Y/N. Or maybe Maurice just hates Y/N. Either way, though, their relationship has been rocky from start to finish.

_Knucklehead_ refers to the time when, in combat training, Y/N had spaced out and gotten a punch right in the face from her sparring partner. She’d blacked out for two hours, and when she came back around, couldn’t look anyone in the eye for a day, she was so ashamed of herself. Of course, Maurice hadn’t let the opportunity pass, and Y/N found that she had a new nickname. “What a shame I survived, isn’t it, Tomato Face?”

As if in response to her name, Maurice’s cheeks burn red with anger. “You shut up, Knucklehead, or else I’ll see how hard your head really is—”

“Ooh, scary,” Y/N retorts, walking through the open gate. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer sometime, but right now Agnes is probably expecting me. And probably wondering what’s taking me so long, so if she asks—”

“Alright, fine. Go.”

Without argument, Y/N strolls to the main entrance of the Academy, taking her time to soak up all the details that she has forgotten of the castle-like building, from the old limestone bricks to the pointed spires. At least the windows are newer, though, and they have modern plumbing and heating systems. Y/N can’t wait to get out of this cold.

She pulls open the heavy oak doors and walks inside, breathing in the familiar smell of the Academy. Walking up the black marble staircase, she studies the familiar paintings of the Academy Heads lining the wall as she turns down the corridor to Agnes’ office. She knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Agnes says, voice muffled slightly by the door.

Y/N opens the door and slides through, shutting it quietly behind her. She moves to stand in front of Agnes’ desk, where the woman, who looks to be around seventy, though no one knows Agnes’ actual age, studies her quizzically through her brown cat-eye glasses. “Y/N,” she states simply.

“Agnes,” Y/N says in return, dipping her head as a form of respect.

“How did it go?” Agnes asks, resting her elbows on top of the desk and resting her head on her interlaced hands. With anyone else, the gesture may seem cute, but with Agnes, it just gives Y/N the impression of barely concealed anger. Although she knows, logically, that there is no reason for Agnes to be angry with her, because she has carried out all her orders.

“It took longer than I had hoped for,” Y/N begins, as she always does. “All the same, I was expecting to finish the task tonight, but there were some…unforeseen events, and he confronted me in an alley with the idea of rape. I had no choice to but end it after he attacked me.”

“Y/N, you know better,” Agnes admonishes, though Y/N isn’t sure what exactly Agnes is referring to. Yet even though her tone isn’t unkind, Y/N still feels the sting of three years ago, when Agnes had scolded her with those exact words for a mistake much bigger than this. 

It had cost Anne.

Before Y/N can let the memories flood, she forces herself to concentrate on the present. “Yes, Agnes. I’m sorry. I was careless.”

Agnes smiles reassuringly—or probably, that was her intention. What Y/N sees instead is a mocking smirk. “But not too careless, I suppose. You got the job done, no harm done to you or anyone else. A tad messy, and it still took you weeks—but a job well done nonetheless.” Agnes unfolds her hands and moves to adjust papers on her desk, and indication that the conversation has finished. “I will submit the request for erasure of the townspeople’s memories of you. You are dismissed.”

Y/N exits the office and as she closes the door behind her, she lets out a breath she doesn’t know she had been holding. Agnes is never _mean_ to her, per se—or rather, Agnes just never shows her dislike for Y/N openly. Then again, maybe she doesn’t dislike Y/N at all; maybe Y/N is just imagining things, seeing hate where there is none. But Agnes’ attitude toward Y/N has definitely changed, gotten colder, less understanding, ever since _that incident_ happened—

She shakes her head, as if it can shake the thoughts right out of her head and she can forget it ever existed. It’s best not to mull in the past; you acknowledge your mistakes, you learn from your mistakes, you make sure you never make the same mistakes.

Y/N retraces her steps back down the corridor, but instead of going down the stairs she continues up, all the way to the fifth and highest floor. Whereas all the other floors have been lined with plush black carpet and various colored wallpaper for the office and housing floors, the top floor has been left bare, with black tiles and the limestone brick walls. There are no corridors up here, just one giant room—laboratory, really. The brewery. Y/N shivers; the stone room is always cold.

“Glad you’re back,” Dora greets her warmly the moment she reaches the top of the stairs. Unlike most of the others in the Academy, Dora is one of the few people who still treat her kindly.

“You know, most of the people here would rather I stay gone,” Y/N replies, setting her bag down, but there’s no emotion in her voice. It’s just a well-known fact at this point, something she has had to come to terms with.

Dora dumps an armful of herbs in Y/N’s arms, who scrambles to hold everything; some herbs lose their potency when dropped on the floor and collect dust or whatever else may be on the dirty tiles. 

“Then they’re fools,” Dora tells her simply, gathering another armful of herbs. “You’re the best Poisonsmaker after me in this place. And I’m only one person, so without you, half of them wouldn’t be properly equipped.” She looks over at Y/N, who is still standing with the bunch of herbs. “Don’t just stand there, girl! I’ve been waiting for you so that you can help. Put them on the table there and sort them.”

Grinning, Y/N drops the herbs on the giant wooden table in the middle of the room and begins to sort them out, first by plant type, then, in each group, by freshness. It’s tedious work, but it helps her relax. “What are you making today? No, wait, don’t answer that.” She studies the plants in front of her and guesses, “Frostbreath, Angel’s Kiss, and…”

“Shadowmist,” Dora tells her.

“Oh, good. I need a refill on my Shadowmist stock.”

“You run through that stuff like nobody’s business, girl,” Dora says, _tsk_ -ing at Y/N. Then, more quietly, she adds, “Not everyone needs to die a painful death, you know.”

Y/N’s hands, which have been busy picking and poking at leaves, still. “Perhaps not in your eyes, Dora. But then again, you’ve always been a kind person.”

“So are you, Y/N.” Her eyes bore into Y/N, who can’t bring herself to look at Dora.

Instead, Y/N continues sorting the herbs. “Maybe I was, once. But now I can’t afford that kind of mercy. They’re all—” her hands tighten “—scum—” she rips off a shriveled leaf “—who deserve—” she twists a herb that has gone limp; it’s been left sitting for too long “—to die a horrible, painful death, ripped apart from the inside out.”

“Easy there,” Dora chides, taking the herb out of Y/N hands. She doesn’t know when she’d clenched her fists, almost crushing the bunch of herbs in her hand. “You know what, you just got back. Go sit; I’ll make us both some tea.”

With a sigh, Y/N heads over to the fireplace in the far end of the room, where there are two plush chairs. “Thanks, Dora,” she says as she settles into one, holding out her hands to warm them by the fire.  
Dora comes a few minutes later with a teakettle, which she hangs above the fire. “Of course.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, until Dora asks how the assignment went this time. Y/N finds herself telling Dora, in detail, about how she had to follow Stephen for a week to figure out his schedule and routine, and then another week to get herself in the same class and figure out what was going on in the class in order to ask for help. She then describes how Stephen had followed and confronted her, and how she had responded. “And so here I am,” she finishes.

“You see,” Dora comments thoughtfully as she pours tea into two cups, “that’s why I got myself out of the field as soon as I could. I’d rather spend my time here, making poisons and being helpful in the background. I was never really one for violence.”

“Like I said, Dora, you’re really just too nice—agh!” Y/N had sipped at the tea, only to discover it was must hotter than she had anticipated.

“Careful,” Dora chuckles. “It’s hot.”

“You could have told me that _before_ I took a sip.”

“Well now you can keep that in mind while drinking,” Dora replies, and makes a point of drinking calmly from her cup.

“Anyway,” Y/N says, “how has it been here at the Academy?”

“The usual. Nothing much has happened, except that I’m weeks behind on poisons. I’ve made a few batches without you here, but as I’m sure you know, there are a few types that you make much more potent than I can. Those have been waiting for your return.”

Y/N blushes at the sudden compliment that Dora had said so matter-of-factly. “We can get started as soon as we finish our tea, then. We have weeks to catch up on, right?”

“Of course. You didn’t think I was planning on just letting you sit here and drink tea all day, do you?” Dora stands up, setting her empty cup on the small table between the chairs. “Take your time, though. I’m going to finish sorting and we’ll get started on the fun part.”

The next few hours are a blur to Y/N, full of cutting, grinding, boiling, and tasting various poisons to make sure they were made properly. Half an hour before the dinner bell is supposed to ring, she and Dora have finished three batches of each poison, enough to last several months. With a satisfied smile, Dora pats Y/N’s shoulder. “Good job today, Y/N. I’ve missed you; I forgot how efficient we can be when we’re together.” She sighs happily, looking at their finished work. “Go wash up, and be sure to eat a lot later.” Her gaze turns strict and critical, both hands on Y/N’s shoulders and swiveling her back and forth to study her. “You’ve lost weight again, as if you weren’t already skinny enough before,” Dora huffs. “Don’t make me worried.”

Y/N gives Dora a quick hug. “I’m fine, Dora, really. But just for you, I’ll be sure to stuff myself tonight.”

“Do that _every_ night,” Dora replies gruffly, hugging her back. “I’m not going to be around forever to take care of you, girl.”

“I know,” Y/N says, letting go of Dora and trying not to get choked up. Dora is as close to as mother as Y/N figures she could get. “You take care of yourself too, Dora.”

Dora hits her lightly. “I’ve been around much longer than you have. I know how to take care of myself.” She pushes Y/N gently toward the stairs, picking up the bag that Y/N had left by the wall. “Go wash up now; I’ll finish up here. You need rest.”

With one last smile at Dora, Y/N takes her bag and heads downstairs to her room. She breathes in deeply; she had missed home while gone. Y/N drops her bag into the chair at her desk and circles her room slowly, soaking up all the details again. The walls are a midnight purple, so dark it could be mistaken for black, but in comparison with the black carpet, it’s still lighter. She remembers how it had taken her almost an entire week just to paint her room, painting one wall at a time, and trying hard not to get paint onto the carpet. She’d ruined several outfits in the process, but at least the result was worth it.

Y/N pulled the white curtains away from her window to let the last shreds of light from outside into her room. Then she rummages through her closet to find a pair of maroon sweats and a gray shirt, and heads into her bathroom to shower. Each Daughter is in charge of her own room and bathroom; that means cleaning and stocking shampoos and soaps, as well. Y/N frowns at the dust that has accumulated in the weeks she has been gone. After wetting a paper towel and briefly wiping down everything so that her white toilet and sink are no longer gray with dust, she hops into the shower. She’ll do a more thorough cleaning tomorrow, after she gets some rest.

Y/N lets the shower pound hot water on her as the rinses the grime out of her hair and body. She breathes in the familiar scent of the vanilla shampoo and soap that she only uses here at the Academy, at home; when she’s on missions, she insists on using strawberry just so that she can have a tangible difference between the two. Y/N stares at the black tiles lining both the walls and the floors in here, and the little stars she had drawn in using silver Sharpie a few years back. 

It never really hits her until she’s back how much she misses home when away on missions.

When Y/N finally feels clean and awake, she towel-dries her hair and dresses quickly. She doesn’t want to miss dinner.

The moment she steps back into her room, the dinner bell rings. With a satisfied grin, she drapes the towel across the back of her chair and heads downstairs to the dining hall. She finds her friends, Sara and Yoon—or rather, they find her, really, and hug and pound her enthusiastically as they wait in line for food.

As she had promised Dora, Y/N fills herself with so much food, she’s sure that she’s going to burst. She finds herself laughing nonstop as Sara and Yoon fill her in on what has happened in her absence, what stupidity Maurice and her crew have been up to.

The dining hall empties out slowly, and when only Y/N, Sara, and Yoon are left sitting with long-finished dinner trays, they decide to call it a night. They drop off their trays and walk up the stairs together, but since Sara and Yoon both live on the second floor and Y/N the third, she continues back alone. As she approaches her room, however, she sees Agnes in front of her room with her hand raised to the door, about to knock.

“Hello, Agnes,” Y/N greets her.

“Oh, there you are,” Agnes replies, turning and nodding in her direction. “If you would follow me to my office—I have something to discuss with you.” Without further explanation, Agnes begins walking down the corridor to the stairs.

Confused, Y/N follows her anyway, because you don’t refuse when the head of the Academy needs to talk to you. In the privacy of Agnes’ office, however, Y/N asks as Agnes takes a seat at her desk, 

“What is it that you needed to talk about?”

“Have a seat, Y/N,” Agnes says, indicating the chair directly across from Agnes. Y/N hates that chair; it’s wooden and doesn’t have any cushions, so it’s uncomfortable when sitting for long periods of time—as chats with Agnes are bound to take.

Y/N sits, folding her hands in her lap as she does. Maybe it’s because Agnes is so old, but Y/N always feels herself being extra mindful of her manners whenever dealing with Agnes.

“I know that you just came back from an assignment today,” Agnes begins, “and that you need rest.”

“Do you have another assignment for me?” Y/N can’t stop herself from asking.

Agnes’ lips tighten, and she frowns slightly; she hates being interrupted. “Yes, if you are willing. I have reviewed several candidates to take on this one, but out of all of them, you have the most experience. And somehow, this one seems more…fitting for you.” She hands Y/N a thick black folder then: the file on her new assignment.

Y/N takes it, feeling the weight of it in her hands. The first time she had received a folder, she remembers thinking it was like those check books that you get at restaurants—the ones that you’re supposed to put your money in. She doesn’t know why she had thought of that, or how, because she’s never been to a restaurant before going on her first assignment. It must have been a memory from Before—before her death, her admission into the Academy. 

Back then, the folder had been light, only two pieces of paper in it, because new, relatively inexperienced Daughters are always given easier assignments. Quick, simple: just find them at the right time and place, Glean them. Now, though, as Y/N opens the folder, there is an entire stack of papers in it. Even if Y/N has gotten intricate reports before, never has she had a file _this_ detailed.

He must be a tricky person indeed.

Agnes indicates the folder with her head. “As you can see, this man is much more complicated than any assignment you have had before. You will have plenty of time to study his information more closely later, but let me just describe to you the basics right now.

“He is a serial killer. Never been convicted or even accused, though, because he leaves behind no traces of the bodies.”

“Does he have a pattern? What kind of people does he target?” Y/N asks, thumbing through the papers.

Agnes sighs, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. It’s only at moments like these that she seems her age, that she shows any vulnerability. “Young women. Always young women. However, he has tried, unsuccessfully, to kill a man.”

“Why did the man not report him, then?” Y/N asks, genuinely curious. And excited—the prospect of a tricky assignment has woken her senses, and her heart is racing, ready for the chase. Y/N was made for this; this is her sole purpose in this non-life—to hunt down her subjects.

“He failed to kill the man, but managed to knock his head hard enough that the man was found in a comatose state, and has remained so ever since.”

Y/N does not reply; she’s too lost in thought.

“This man is going to be difficult, Y/N, perhaps the most difficult assignment you will ever have.”

“Agnes, you know that I don’t shy away from tough assignments.”

“I know that. But I need you to be alert at all times for this one. He is similar to a case you had three years ago.”

Y/N feels her heart stop. If Agnes is mentioning three years ago, then…

“Yes,” Agnes says, confirming Y/N’s fears. “I am talking about _that_ case. The one where we lost Anne.”

“Agnes,” Y/N struggles to keep her sudden anger in check. “If this is somehow supposed to be punishment for three years ago—”

“Every assignment,” Agnes breathes, “should feel like a punishment to you, a reminder of what you did wrong, of how your foolishness and blind sympathy can be deadly!”

It’s like a blow to Y/N’s gut, and all the anger drains out of her, leaving her feel deflated. “I know. Just…how does this case have anything to do with three years ago?”

Agnes softens her tone. “I only mention it so that you are careful this time. This man—” Agnes waves at the folder in Y/N’s hands “—lacks the ability to feel emotions. You cannot trust him, cannot believe even one word that comes out of his mouth.”

Y/N narrows her eyes, struggling to force down unwanted memories. “I see.”

“I am sure you already know this, but let me say this again, as a reminder and as a warning. Do not try to understand him. Our Father, Death, has chosen him for a reason. This means that he is one of the worst scum to walk this earth.”

“I understand,” Y/N says numbly.

“This means,” Agnes leans closer to Y/N, “that he deserves his path to hell. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Each word is like a blow; Y/N feels like crumpling in on herself. To be reminded so thoroughly of the cost of her naïveté…

“Do you understand?” Agnes asks.

“I do.”

“Good.” Agnes holds out a hand for the folder; Y/N returns it to her. “Do you accept this assignment?”

“Yes. I accept.”

Satisfied, Agnes opens the folder, and turns it so that the papers face Y/N. The agreement form that begins every assignment stares at Y/N, and Agnes hands her a pen that has no ink. “Sign, if you will.”

Y/N takes the pen and feels the familiar sting as she presses down on the paper, signing her name in bright red.

Her blood.

“Good,” Agnes says, sliding the agreement form from the paper clip that binds the rest of the papers.

As she does so, Y/N stares at the picture of the man that has been included along with his name and age on the second page of the report.

“His name is Yoon Jeonghan,” Agnes informs her, as though she can’t read it. “Twenty-one years old.”

“I can see that.”

Agnes tightens her lips again. “You will have all of tomorrow to prepare.”

“Yes, Agnes.”

Agnes looks at Y/N, hard, directly in the eyes. “Do not mess this up, Y/N, or I will be forced to reevaluate your ability to handle assignments. I gave you a second chance three years ago; I will not give you a third.”

“I understand. I will complete this assignment in a way that satisfies you,” Y/N says, standing up and grabbing the folder from the desk. Just before she reaches the door, she turns around to find Agnes watching her carefully, the way a hawk might stalk its prey. “And I promise you, I will return here unharmed.”

As Y/N closes the door behind her with a final _click_ , Agnes speaks to the empty chair in front of her.

“I hope you do, dear. It would be a shame if you never came back, just like my poor Anne.”


	3. Part 2

###  Words: 5,039

Dramatics are overrated.

They make for good stories, sure, or movies or TV shows or what have you. But completely, overwhelmingly _overrated_.

So Y/N seethes as she closes the door behind her, folder clenched in hand. She stomps through the hallways back to her room, where she nearly slams the door shut behind her. “ _Don’t mess this up, or I’ll be forced to reevaluate you_ ,” Y/N mocks, throwing the heavy folder onto her desk—one of the few splashes of white in her dark-themed room—and snorts. “Reevaluate, my ass.”

She flops onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Y/N studies the night sky that she hand-painted with glow-in-the-dark paint, the swirls of grey and silver and blue and white. For someone who was raped and killed in the night at nine years old, she surprisingly prefers night to day. There was a period of time where she refused to go out past sundown or else her tremors would start, but realized that it was a weakness as her friends—sisters—remained outside to train. And so she told herself that she would learn to get over it; painting the room helped her learn to embrace the darkness and to admire the beauty of it. The darkness doesn’t bother her anymore, doesn’t seem ominous; the quiet calms her, lets her think. Night is the only time she has any peace nowadays.

After a few minutes, her breathing is normal and she no longer wants to punch a wall. Y/N sits up with a great sigh and pads over to her desk to retrieve the folder, then crosses back to settle cross-legged on her bed. She opens the folder, once again taken aback by the man staring back at her. His blond hair is parted down the middle, long bangs framing his face. On any other person, it would have looked ridiculous, especially the part—but Yoon Jeonghan has a face pretty enough to make it work. Not only that—as she studies his face, she realizes he looks… _kind_. His eyes soft, an easy grin set on his handsome face—not at all the kind of person Agnes had described him to be.

_But looks are deceiving_ , Y/N scolds herself. It’s probably how he got away with all his crimes in the first place.

She moves on, scrutinizing the overview that has been included on the same page. Yoon Jeonghan, born October 4th of 1995, making him twenty-one years old. 178 cm, 62 kg, blood type B. The list goes on, describing his physique and history, and she reads quickly through them until she gets to the last bullet point that sends chills down her spine: _Reason for Punishment: Has killed a total of 32 women. Attempted murder of 1 man, injuring him beyond salvation._

To have killed _thirty-two women_ and feel no remorse…

Y/N’s blood begins to boil as she flips through the papers, detailed summaries of all his crimes. By the time she finishes, she is numb and entirely horrified. Thirty-two dead without a trace—no clue how he killed them, only the day and descriptions of the women before death. A small part of her wonders how the Academy even knew it was Jeonghan, if there was no proof against him.

But it’s not her place to question how they got their information.

She’s had to learn that the hard way already…and she’s not about to make the same mistake twice.

A glance at the clock tells her it’s already three in the morning. Y/N hastily scoops the papers back into the folder and sets it on the nightstand beside her bed. She fluffs her pillows and finally, finally, lies down and closes her eyes. The last thing she sees before sleep claims her is the starry night sky, shining in the darkness.

_A paper, face down by a rock in the snowy ground. It’s hidden by the thick root of the tree, and Y/N wouldn’t even have noticed it if the wind hadn’t been strong enough to make the paper flutter. Y/N isn’t sure why, but she gets the sense that she needs to hurry, before anyone else spots it. Making sure no one is watching her, she saunters over to the base of the tree, acting for all the world like she’s just enjoying the weather. After a few seconds, she bends over to brush some snow off her shoe, simultaneously freeing the paper from under the rock. She glances down into her palm as she rises and slips the note into her pocket, struggling to keep her face calm as she hears a stick snap from somewhere behind her._

_Because written on the note were only three words: Watch your back_.

Y/N wakes with a gasp, sitting up. Heart still pounding, she runs her hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. She glances at the clock: six-thirty, and the sun is just starting to rise, light peeking through her curtains.

She slides out of bed; it’s not likely she can go back to sleep after that dream, anyway. And she’s got a long day ahead, with packing and at least trying to clean before she leaves again. Y/N is not a messy person, and if her room gets any dustier she might honestly get too grossed out by her own room.

Y/N groggily heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. A few minutes later, feeling a thousand times more refreshed, she goes downstairs to make herself coffee and hopefully a plate of pancakes, made with that _exact_ consistency that Cook always got it at, topped with a mountain of berries and sugar sprinkled on top. Y/N can just _see_ the syrup sliding down that beautiful perfection…

Her mouth waters just at the thought of it.

She reaches the kitchen and the smell alone is enough to make her feel like she’s in heaven. To her delight, there are indeed pancakes, hot and steaming, and just _waiting for her_. She grabs a plate, thanking the chef as she does, and sits down at the nearest table to dig in. Sara and Yoon join her as she starts on her third plate, the three continuing on from last night’s conversation and talking animatedly.

“Oh, right,” Y/N says as the conversation eases into a lull. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Again?” Sara asks, eyebrows pinching together as she frowns.

“Yeah.” Y/N spears a piece of strawberry from the fruit salad she’s been trying to finish for the past ten minutes. “You know how Agnes is, always overworking us.”

“You mean overworking _you_ ,” Yoon corrects her, stealing a piece of cantaloupe from her bowl. “Because you’re good. When you’re like us, well…let’s just say I now know every inch of this building by heart.”

Sara laughs and elbows Yoon, who makes a face. “It’s fine though. You learn to live with it after a while. Besides, not like the Academy is a bad place.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yoon grumbles back. “You may be perfectly content to stay here, but _I_ want to go out there into the real world and meet some boys.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, and soon Yoon and Sara join in. Before Y/N knows it, it’s past ten and she excuses herself to prepare for her trip. Sara shoots her an easy smile, and Yoon does as well, though the latter has a wistful look in her eyes as she does so.

Truth be told, Y/N is reluctant to go. She had been looking forward to resting and spending time with her friends. She missed the normalcy and routine of the Academy. Out in the real world, she was always alone and had to fend for herself. No one was there to tell her what to do, or to remind her to take care of herself. There was no one to talk to, no one she could depend on if things went awry.

Back in her room, Y/N stretches contentedly for approximately thirty seconds before she springs into action. She throws open her curtains to let in the sunlight and turns on music. Then she walks down the hall to the communal closet, filled with various cleaning supplies. Y/N grabs the vacuum cleaner and heads back to her room, determined to get rid of the white specks of dust on her black carpet.

Once done, she returns the vacuum cleaner in exchange for a handful of spray cleaners and paper towels to clean her furniture. After every surface in her room and bathroom have been cleaned, she returns all the supplies and moves on to laundry. Y/N is a light packer, so she has been cycling through about five outfits on the last mission. Thanks to whatever magic the Academy operates under, her suitcase always appears in the corner of her room once she returns. Y/N gathers her dirty clothes into her laundry basket, throwing in a few extra items, and heads downstairs to the laundry room at the end of the hallway.

Y/N has just returned to her room and set the empty basket down when there’s a knock on her door. “Come in,” she calls.

It’s Agnes. As the door closes with a soft _click_ behind her, Agnes steps further into the room, looking about the room. Y/N’s eyes focus on the folder in Agnes’ hand.

Agnes notices Y/N’s gaze and hands it to her. Y/N accepts it wordlessly. “I trust your preparations are going well?”

“Yes, Agnes,” she replies, praying that Agnes would just get to the point.

Agnes nods at the folder in Y/N’s hand. “Read that before you head out. I’ve already told you that this will not be like previous assignments; that folder contains material for your cover. But do not forget your true task, the one I gave you last night.”

“Cover?” Y/N is sure she heard wrong, because Agnes’ words are making no sense to her. “What do you mean, cover? Cover for what?”

Agnes walks back to the door, opening it. “You will understand once you look over the contents. Come find me if you have any questions before you go, but I expect you to be gone by tomorrow afternoon.” Agnes turns around to give Y/N the stare that had scared her out of her mind the first time she met Agnes, all those years ago: lifeless and a promise of unfathomable pain should she mess up. “Needless to say, every piece of information related to this task is confidential. Speak of this to no one. This is important, Y/N. Should you fail, you may find the Academy’s doors unwelcome to you.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and Y/N snorts. Later, she tells herself. She’ll read it later, once she’s finished with everything she needs to do to prepare to leave. Y/N knows herself; once she starts, she won’t be able to stop reading. Yet even as she folds her clothes and packs everything she needs, Y/N keeps glancing over at the folder sitting on her desk.

Finally, as she closes her suitcase, she exhales and stands up, stretching. According to the clock, it is two in the afternoon. Y/N knows she should probably grab lunch, but she isn’t feeling particularly hungry, and her curiosity is overpowering. She grabs the folder and settles on her bed.

The first page is not a normal profile that she is used to seeing; instead of one man, there is information on both a man and a woman—a married couple, according to the paper. Park Hyunwoo and Dahye, thirty-five and thirty-two years old, respectively. She has never been assigned two targets in one file. Strange. Y/N continues reading; residing in Seoul, South Korea, the two ran a sex trafficking business. The subsequent pages describe their business and their methods, and Y/N breezes through them, sorting through the information.

However, Y/N pauses at the section following that.

_Confidential_

_In the beginning, there was the Father, Death, alone. He was responsible for reaping souls that were due…_

Y/N skims over the words, already aware of the story. Eventually there were too many humans, too many souls, so he recruited the Daughters, girls who have been wronged and killed before their time, to help him. But she slows after the description of the Daughters and their work.

_In addition to the Daughters, there is another group of followers who do His work: the Sons of Death. Much like their counterparts, the Sons are responsible for the Gleaning of souls. However, while the Daughters deal almost exclusively with men guilty of rape and murder, the Sons are responsible for men, women, and anywhere in between. Additionally, these subjects are often guilty of a wide range of crimes, from theft to arson to homicide. Some speculate the reason is that girls are more likely targets for men, especially for rape and/or homicide, and thus the Daughters are better hunters of such criminals for revenge—a specialist, of sorts. It is important to note, however, that nothing about this speculation has been confirmed._

Y/N absorbs this information. If it is true, why have the Daughters never been taught of their male counterparts? Why the secrecy? Did the Sons know about the Daughters?

She sighs. Focus on the mission at hand, she chides herself. The task is straightforward enough, though challenging. The Parks run a large business, and are extremely careful; it will be hard to find them. Once she is sure that she has read through and understood everything, Y/N puts the papers back into the folder. She stretches her legs and neck, and glances at the clock: 5 o’clock. She heads downstairs to eat dinner before she leaves.

Sara and Yoon are nowhere to be found, so Y/N fills a plate with food and sits by herself at an empty table. She mulls over the contents of her two folders as she chews. What does it all mean? She has never been handed two missions simultaneously. Although Agnes _had_ said the second one is supposed to be a “cover,” though for what, Y/N can’t fathom.

After refilling her plate two more times, Y/N is finally full and heads back to her room to do one last check before leaving. Clothes, hygienic products, weapons and poisons…Y/N seems to have everything. She puts the two folders into her backpack, zipping it shut and putting it on before rolling her suitcase out the door. Y/N takes one last look at her room, not sure when she will see it again—hopefully soon.

She goes to Agnes’ office, as she always does before leaving. Y/N knocks. “Come in,” Agnes’ voice comes through the door.

Y/N enters, rolling her suitcase with her. She leaves it by the door along with her backpack as she walks further into the room, stopping right in front of Agnes at her desk. “I take it you are leaving now?” Agnes asks her without looking up from the papers in front of her.

“Yes.”

“And you have read through all the material?”

“Yes.”

“Any questions?”

“No.”

At that, Agnes finally looks up at Y/N, right in the eyes. “So then where are you headed?”

“South Korea.”

“Good,” Agnes acknowledges, nodding. She grabs a piece of paper and a pen and scribbles something on it. Once she finishes, she hands it to Y/N. “Take this.”

On the paper is an address along with three names: Hwang Yoon, Lee Jihoon, and Yoon Jeonghan.

Before Y/N can ask any questions, Agnes continues, “That address is where you will be staying while you complete the cover.”

Cover, Sons and Daughters, two missions…Just like that, all the pieces fall into place and Y/N understands. “I see.”

“Do you?” Agnes asks, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N just grins back at her. “I do. Don’t worry, Agnes, I won’t mess up. Now, if there is nothing else…?”

“You are dismissed,” Agnes replies with a wave of her hand, returning her attention to the papers spread out on her desk.

Y/N shrugs her backpack back on and rolls her suitcase to the main doors; she had already said goodbye to Dora earlier. She sees a figure already waiting by the doors, lost in thought, and Y/N knows who it is before the girl turns around.

“Hey, Yoon,” she greets with a smile, feigning surprise. It feels wrong to keep up a pretense in front of her friend, but she has already been sworn to secrecy.

“Y/N,” Yoon says a little breathlessly. Her eyes are bright with what Y/N sees upon closer inspection as tears. “My first mission, and it’s with you.”

Yoon wraps her arms around Y/N, and Y/N’s heart aches when she realizes that Yoon is trembling. “Shh,” Y/N whispers, patting Yoon’s back. “You’ll be fine. Besides, shouldn’t you be happy? What are you crying for? You’re finally leaving the Academy!”

Yoon chokes out a laugh. “You’re right,” she agrees, letting go of Y/N. She wipes her cheeks.

“Ready?” Y/N asks.

“Not really,” Yoon answers. “But let’s go.”

Y/N laughs and throws open the door, leading them into the fading daylight. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” Yoon asks behind her. “I was told to just follow you.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Y/N says, glancing down at the address she still holds in her hand. When she nears the main gates, she pulls out her black chalk from a pocket in her backpack and draws a circle. “I’m sure you’ve been over the process a million times during class,” Y/N explains to Yoon as she works. “Just draw the portal and concentrate on where you need to go.”

She closes her eyes, concentrating on the faces of her targets and repeating the address to herself like a mantra. She feels the darkness spreading before her, beckoning—a path. “Let’s go,” she tells Yoon, and walks forward into the inky blackness.

Y/N makes small talk with Yoon as they walk—about the mission, about the Academy, about some of the other Sisters. She’s glad that she’s with Yoon because conversation comes easily, and because her friend’s presence is a comfort in the face of so much pressure. Finally, Y/N feels the darkness shift and lighten, even though her eyes can’t really see a difference. “We’re almost there,” Y/N informs Yoon. “Just be prepared for anything.”

“Got it,” Yoon grumbles from behind her, having been in the midst of complaining about her sore feet and the unending darkness.

Soon enough, Y/N sees an expanding spot of light as she and Yoon approach it. They leave the darkness behind them, and Y/N finds that it wasn’t _light_ , per se; it was just light compared to the darkness they had been in. It’s actually night, the only light sources being the streetlights and the moon above. Y/N spots the house number they are supposed to stay at; it’s an apartment building, and they are on the second floor.

“Is that where we’re staying?” Yoon asks, staring up at the building, nose crinkled in distaste. Y/N feels a flash of irritation before she remembers that this is Yoon’s first time away from the Academy, and that Yoon had mostly likely grown used to the comforts of the place.

“Yeah.” Y/N kicks open the front gate, blue paint chipping and covered with rust. She lifts her suitcase and begins climbing the stairs. “Just be glad we have a place to sleep at all,” she tells Yoon, grunting against the weight of her suitcase. “I once—had to sleep—in a sewer for a week straight—because Agnes—thought it wouldn’t take more than two days.”

“That’s horrible,” Yoon exclaims, kicking the gate shut behind her as she follows Y/N.

“It was,” Y/N agrees, finally reaching the second floor. There’s a nice balcony area, and she sets her suitcase down by the door. She tries the door; it’s locked. Y/N curses, glaring down at the paper still in her hand.

“Is it locked?” Yoon asks.

“Yeah.” Y/N searches the balcony for any sign of a key.

“It’s going to be terrible when it rains,” Yoon comments, helping Y/N look. “Why are the stairs outside?”

“I don’t—”

“I think I found it!” Yoon jumps up, holding a silver key in her hand. She fits the key into the hole in the doorknob and turns. The door opens, and Y/N lets out a breath.

“Great, let’s go in. I don’t know about you, but I could really use a hot shower right now.”

Without a word, Yoon throws Y/N the key and lugs her suitcase inside. Grinning, Y/N follows her, closing the door behind them.

They are first greeted by a small living room. The walls are white and bare, with hardwood floors, and the only furniture being a couch and coffee table. Yoon has disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Y/N continues along the narrow hallway—barely wide enough for her suitcase—and sees that there are two bedrooms and one bathroom. Further along is a kitchen, a tiny square area crammed with cabinets, a stove, a sink, and a fridge. At least there would be enough room for two people to move around, she thinks, heading into the empty bedroom.

“I’m showering first!” Yoon calls, and Y/N hears the bathroom door shut a second later. Y/N doesn’t mind; she would rather look around her room first anyway. Like the rest of the apartment, it is small and sparsely furnished. There is a mattress that looks relatively new in the corner and a nightstand, and an empty closet. Anything else and Y/N suspects the room would feel suffocating because of how small it is.

Y/N can still hear Yoon humming as she showers, so Y/N inspects her mattress for bugs and, finding none, flops onto it and closes her eyes. She isn’t sure how long passes, but Yoon eventually emerges from the bathroom and pokes her head into Y/N’s room to say, “I’m done if you want to shower now.”

Y/N grabs her towel and a change of clothes, and heads into the bathroom. The hot water loosens her muscles and soothes her as she rubs shampoo into her scalp. Ten minutes later, she emerges from the bathroom smelling and feeling fresh and rejuvenated. She is in the middle of towel-drying her hair when the doorbell rings, followed immediately by pounding on the door.

Instantly alert, Y/N grabs a small knife and turns off the light in her room. Yoon is already in the hallway, her light off as well. Y/N makes eye contact with Yoon and holds a finger to her lips, motioning with her other hand for Yoon to stand by the wall adjacent to the door. Once Yoon is in position, Y/N opens the door, hiding herself behind it.

Two figures enter, and within a second, Y/N has her knife at the throat of one, while Yoon has the other.

“Jesus,” breathes the one by Yoon.

“Yeah, relax a little, would you? We’re on your side,” the one Y/N is holding on to chimes in.

“What do you mean, ‘on our side’—” Yoon begins, but Y/N cuts her off.

“Don’t believe them,” Y/N tells her. She tugs her boy—for Y/N has realized that they are, indeed, two boys—towards the light switch, keeping her knife tight against his throat. Y/N can feel his heartbeat pounding, and she ignores it, switching on the light.

It’s only then that she loosens her grip, and the boy breaks free, coughing. “Jesus, woman, you have one hell of a grip,” he sputters.

Y/N ignores him. “Yoon, let him go,” she tells her friend.

The other boy simply rubs his throat, studying Y/N. He has blond hair and a pretty face, dressed in black leather pants and combat boots. His shirt is also black and filled with various buckles. Y/N would have described him as an elf dressed for battle, for while he looked fierce, he was also about Y/N’s height. “I’m Lee Jihoon,” he finally says, cracking a crooked grin at Y/N and Yoon, who had come around to stand by her. “I’m not sure that was the warmest welcome I’ve ever received, but it certainly was impressive. Unnecessary, but impressive. As expected of two Daughters of Death.”

Well, that answers one of Y/N’s earlier questions—the Sons definitely know about the Daughters. Unless, like her, they had only found out because of this joint project.

On the other hand…

_Lee Jihoon._

Y/N closes her eyes, and she can see the names written on the piece of paper as clearly as if she was still holding it.

Hwang Yoon, her longtime friend, standing next to her.

Lee Jihoon, who had just introduced himself.

And the man she had just let go of…

“You’re the Sons of Death we’re supposed to be working with,” Yoon blurts.

Y/N opens her eyes to find that he had straightened up, and was brushing his blond hair out of his face. His doe eyes stare back at her, filled with curiosity. “Indeed,” he agrees. “You know, when I said I wanted a girl to jump on me, I didn’t mean it quite like that.” He addresses Jihoon, but his eyes are still trained on Y/N, unblinking.

“A pity she didn’t actually cut your throat, Jeonghan,” Jihoon drawls as he picks up their bags from outside and deposits them inside, shutting the door. “It would have saved me the guilt as I consider doing that every five minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes, grinning. “You love me.”

“I most definitely do not.”

“Your life would be so _boring_ without me in it, though.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I _like_ having a boring life.”

“Aww,” Jeonghan pouts, coming over to put his arm around Jihoon’s shoulder, “that’s no fun.”

“That is,” Jihoon says, shrugging Jeonghan’s arm off, “kind of the point.”

Jeonghan roars with laughter like Jihoon has just cracked the funniest joke in the world. “Oh, man,” he wheezes as he picks up his bag from the floor. “I love being around you.”

“A pity I can’t say the same,” Jihoon grumbles under his breath as he grabs his bag as well, but Y/N can tell he doesn’t truly hate Jeonghan.

Y/N, meanwhile, is in shock; too much has just happened.

“Which room are we in?” Jeonghan calls from down the hallway.

Y/N snaps back into reality and rushes to move her suitcase into Yoon’s room. “Wow,” Jeonghan comments as Y/N rolls her suitcase out of the room. “Small room.”

“I would tell you to stop complaining and be grateful we have a room at all,” Jihoon says from behind him, “but it also means I’m that much closer to you.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Jeonghan sniffs. “If I were you, I would be grateful for this opportunity to be this close to me. I mean come on, you could hug me during the night and blame it all on the small bed—”

“Shut! Up!” Jihoon growls, and Jeonghan laughs.

Y/N watches this exchange, their easy friendship, and is almost envious of their relationship. She and Yoon are close, but they have never teased each other like that. But then, she realizes, that’s stupid, because she’s about to kill one of them. She shouldn’t grow attached.

Y/N enters the room she will now be sharing with Yoon, and sets her backpack and suitcase in the corner. She and Yoon exchange tired smiles. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Yoon asks.

“A good question!” Jeonghan’s voice chimes in, and Y/N looks up to see that he and Jihoon are standing in the doorway. “By the way, who’s who?”

“I’m Yoon,” Yoon chirps, “and that’s Y/N.”

“Yes. I was thinking tomorrow we split up and gather information on Park Hyunwoo and Dahye. See if we can find any information on Supreme Pleasantries,” Y/N continues, citing the name of the Parks’ business.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jeonghan says, shrugging.

“Except,” Jihoon interjects, “you two shouldn’t go alone.” Y/N is about to protest, but Jihoon continues, “We know they are responsible for trafficking young girls. I don’t care how good the two of you are, you’re not going alone. Especially not if we don’t know where you are.”

“It makes sense,” Yoon admits to Y/N.

“Fine,” Y/N cedes.

Jihoon grins, smug. “Great. Then tomorrow Yoon goes with the Big Annoyance here, and I’ll go with Y/N.”

Y/N nods. Yoon gives a thumbs up, and Jihoon pushes himself off the doorframe and heads back down the hallway to the boys’ room. Only Jeonghan objects as Jihoon walks away, “Big Annoyance?”

“What, do you disagree?” Jihoon shoots back.

“Of course I do,” Jeonghan tells him.

Jihoon laughs, and the Y/N sees the light turn off in the other room. “Long day tomorrow, folks. Good night.”

“Good night,” Yoon and Y/N call to him. Y/N is honestly surprised to feel so warmly towards the grumpy elf-like boy, but he has done nothing to make her suspicious yet.

_Except_ , says a voice in the back of her mind, he’s friends with your target.

Y/N studies the boy still standing at the door. As before, she sees nothing that would have made her suspect him, either. If she hadn’t received his file, she would never have guessed.

The thought sends a shiver down her spine.

“Good night, ladies,” Jeonghan finally says, pushing himself off the wall. “I look forward to working with you.”

He shoots them a wink, and Y/N can see Yoon swoon as he walks away. Y/N gets up and turns off the light.

As she settles on the mattress next to Yoon, she tells her friend, “I wouldn’t get too attached to Jeonghan, if I were you.”

“Why, you got your eye on him or something?” Yoon shoots back. Y/N swears she can hear a hint of jealousy in her friend’s voice. But for what?

“No. Just don’t do it,” she replies tiredly, the exhaustion finally kicking in.

Yoon only snorts.

“I’m serious, Yoon.”

“Alright, mom. Sleep already. Long day ahead.”

“Fine. Good night, Yoon.” Y/N looks over at her friend, but Yoon’s eyes are already closed, her breathing starting to even out.

“Just,” Y/N whispers into the darkness, “please don’t die on me tomorrow.”


	4. Part 3

### Words: 5,627

“Rise and shine, princesses!” a loud voice calls out, followed by pounding on the bedroom door. It takes Y/N a moment of glaring at the ceiling and cringing at the noise before she remembers where she is and what she is supposed to be doing. “The day is wasting away!”

“Stop that,” Y/N grumbles as she rolls off her mattress, opening the door.

It’s Jeonghan, with that cursed bright smile of his. “Well, aren’t _we_ looking lovely today? That hair belongs to the high fashion runway.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” she sighs, choosing to ignore his insult. “What time is it?”

“Three in the morning,” a grumpy voice answers from the kitchen, and Y/N realizes that the apartment smells of food—eggs and bacon?

“And why, pray tell, are we being woken up at three a.m.?”

“At least there’s food,” Yoon grumbles from behind Y/N. “Good morning, Jeonghan.”

“ _Someone_ in this household has manners! It’s a miracle!” Jeonghan cries dramatically, flinging his arms and turning to Jihoon. “Jihoon, did you hear that? She actually wished me a good morning! Good morning, Yoon!”

Yoon exchanges a look with Y/N, and despite herself, Y/N has to stop herself from smiling. “Now, if you don’t mind,” Yoon says, slipping past Y/N and finding herself blocked by Jeonghan, “could you please get out of my way?”

Jeonghan flashes a hurt look as he wordlessly moves from the doorway, and Y/N watches as the bathroom door closes behind Yoon. “So,” Y/N says, “what _are_ we doing up so early?”

In contrast to his earlier antics, Jeonghan is completely serious as he looks down at Y/N. “Pleasantries start the day earlier. So it stands to reason that we need to start earlier.”

It takes half a second for Y/N to realize that “Pleasantries” was referring to Supreme Pleasantries, the company they were supposed to be after. In that time, Jeonghan had moved to the kitchen and was watching Jihoon make egg omelets.

Yoon reappears, and Y/N takes her turn in the bathroom. She brushes her teeth and splashes her face with ice-cold water to wake up. When she rejoins the others in the kitchen, they are already seated and eating. Y/N takes the empty seat next to Jihoon and stares down at the plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast. “Where did you get all this?” she can’t help asking Jihoon in amazement; on her own missions, she usually survived on fast food.

“I went to the market earlier,” Jihoon answered, shrugging. “Eat. We’re supposed to head out in half an hour, since we heard Pleasantries start their day around five in the morning.”

“Which means we need to be there by four-thirty, latest,” Jeonghan adds with a meaningful look at the clock on the wall. “So we have exactly one hour.”

Wordlessly, Y/N digs into her food, surprised that the eggs were seasoned nicely. And while she would never admit it out loud, it made her a little homesick to be having a hot meal while out on a mission. She associated home-cooked food with the Academy, and while this was Jihoon’s cooking (and minimally, at that), it still made her a little nostalgic.

They pile their plates into the sink and headed to their respective rooms to change and get ready to head out. Y/N studies her blades and chooses three: one in her left boot, one by her hip, and a small one hidden in her hair, tied up high. Yoon does likewise, but has two by her hip, since she leaves her hair down—Y/N rolls her eyes at her friend, who is fussing with it. “He’s not going to admire your hair if it’s what gets you killed,” Y/N said flatly.

“You really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?” Yoon snaps, frowning, then smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I know you’re just worried about me. But I’ll be fine.”

Y/N shrugs, opening the door and tucking her phone into a pants pocket. “It’s fine. You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Yoon replies, and they walk to the living room to wait for the boys.

Jihoon appears first, followed closely by Jeonghan. They’re mumbling quietly but intensely to each other, and Y/N figures they must be having an argument. She watches with interest, but soon they straighten out and Jeonghan smiles again. “Shall we go?” he asks, sidling up to Yoon and putting an am around her shoulder. Yoon starts and turns red, but Y/N only glares at the arm Jeonghan has on her and remembers exactly who he is. Jeonghan stares straight at her, challenging, but before she can say a word Jihoon puts a hand on her back and lightly pushes her toward the door.

“We don’t have time to be standing around,” Jihoon says loudly, and then more quietly in her ear, “Jeonghan’s always like that. He may be annoying and flamboyant, but he really won’t do anything to her. He’s not a bad person.”

“You’re his friend,” Y/N points out, keeping her voice low to match Jihoon’s.

“I am,” he agrees as they finish heading down the stairs and reach the ground. “But I’m also a person who can judge others objectively.”

Something about his words, or the way he says them so bitterly, makes Y/N turn to study him closely. Could he also know about her mission? His face is carefully neutral as he watches Jeonghan and Yoon walk down the stairs, already laughing. “Staring is rude,” he says without turning to look at Y/N, and she quickly follows his gaze towards the two others.

“Alright,” Jeonghan drawls as they regroup. “Jihoon and Y/N, you remember everything? Remember, we’re just shadowing today. Find Hyunwoo, and we’ll take Dahye. Be back here by eight tonight.”

The couple ran the same business, but there were two buildings to their name. Y/N and Jihoon would search one, and Jeonghan and Yoon the other. “Got it.” Jihoon rolls his eyes, but claps Jeonghan on the shoulder. “Be careful,” he says, reaching to shake Yoon’s hand.

“Same to you,” Yoon replies shyly.

Y/N is startled to see a hand extended to her—she takes Jeonghan’s hand, shaking it firmly while she tries to decipher the strange look in his eyes. At first glance she would have called it confidence, but up close Y/N sees that it was just a façade; Jeonghan looks tired, almost defeated. Does he know that he is her target? “Good luck,” Jeonghan tells her, never breaking eye contact. “And be smart. We may have to follow orders, but we have to be able to judge the situation first, rather than just blindly follow what we’re told to do.”

A feeling of dread finds its way into Y/N’s stomach as she forces herself to smile. “Good advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The defeated glimmer in Jeonghan’s face disappears, hidden completely by the smirk he conjures up. Jeonghan gives Y/N a final wink, then saunters back to stand by Yoon. He gives Jihoon a salute as he passes by the other boy, and continues walking; Yoon, with a brief panicked glance, waves at Y/N and jogs after Jeonghan.

“I almost feel sorry for your friend,” Jihoon comments dryly as he begins to lead the way, opposite from Jeonghan and Yoon. “It seems to me that she’s head over heels for him.”

“That would be unfortunate,” she mutters, and Jihoon laughs.

“It’s not her fault. Jeonghan tends to have that kind of effect on people.”

Y/N doesn’t reply. Together they follow the directions he had on his phone, only speaking when necessary. Y/N doesn’t know what she was expecting—maybe an old abandoned building, where they kept their “goods”—it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d run across one of those—but instead Supreme Pleasantries operates under the guise of a baked goods factory. The exterior is clean and modern, with tinted glass windows—if she hadn’t already known what it really was, she never would have guessed.

“It almost makes me want to go in and buy a box of cookies,” Jihoon muses from beside her.

She only glares at him in response.

He shrugs and leads the way, making a circuit around the building to scan for a way in. The building itself is surrounded by a garden, with trees and flowers lining the walkway and an impressive water fountain on one side. The perimeter was lined with a black fence, with security guards patrolling in pairs. Y/N and Jihoon hide behind the hedges lining the fence, and she notes that the guards come about every five minutes.

“How do you suppose we get in?” she whispers, scanning for entrances. “Considering it’s a glass building, we’d be seen from a mile away.”

“There has to be a way they get their supplies in. A garage, or at least a back door…there, to the right. The cement wall.”

She follows to where he points, and spots the door. It’s in plain sight, probably because trucks need to get in and out, but it also means they won’t have cover until they break inside the building. “Got it. Let’s go.” Y/N crouches, ready to grab onto the fence.

Silently, after the guards just passed them, Jihoon points at the fence, then at his watch, and at a particularly large tree near them. Y/N nods, and he holds up three fingers.

Two.

One.

Jihoon crouches and laces his hands together near the fence, waiting for Y/N. She steps on it and pulls herself up and over the fence. Once on top, Y/N turns around and reaches for Jihoon; he grabs her hand and she helps him up, and together they leap down and run for cover under the large tree.

Y/N looks over at Jihoon, his blond hair contrasting with their dark surroundings as he whips his head this way and that, scanning for guards or cameras. She has to admit, Jihoon is good. He’s quick and alert, and they’re able to understand each other without speaking. If all the Sons were like this…once again, Y/N wonders why the Sons and Daughters were kept apart. Together, they would have made unstoppable teams.

Jihoon motions with his head toward the building, and counts off with his fingers again. They sprint across the garden, staying off the cement walkway and trying their best to avoid rustling plants. “Right,” she breathes as she runs, trying to tell Jihoon that she was heading to their right where the wall was.

Jihoon doesn’t respond, but she sees him adjust to follow her, and within a few seconds she reaches the building. She scans the door, and notes the beeping noises from the other side. “There’s an alarm,” she tells Jihoon.

“Of course there is,” he says calmly, pulling out his phone. “I’ll get right on it.”

\--  
Y/N discovers that in addition to rousing himself at ungodly hours to run to the market and buy groceries to make breakfast for people he’d met for only a few hours, Jihoon is also a hacker.

The boy is full of surprises.

Within a minute Y/N hears the beeping stop, and there is a click from the door. “After you,” Jihoon says with a mock bow, and she turns the knob to find that it was unlocked.

“Unfair,” Y/N grumbles under her breath. “Why are we stuck with the old-fashioned lock-picking while you just stand there and press a few buttons—”

“To clarify, that’s just me. Most others do it the old-fashioned way,” Jihoon corrects her smugly. “You’re welcome. Aren’t you glad you’re with me and not Jeonghan?”

“I’m beginning to see why you two are friends,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Jihoon laughs softly behind her; he’s close enough that she can feel the breaths against her back. She’s also able to feel the moment he tenses up, smile disappearing and hand coming onto her shoulder to stop her from moving forward.

Then she hears it, too: footsteps.

Jihoon was right, earlier—they’re standing in a loading area, with nothing to hide behind. Without warning, Y/N sprints for the nearest hiding spot she can think of, the boxes in her field of vision near the wall. At the same time, Jihoon hurtles for the stack of boxes on the other side of the room.

From her spot behind the boxes, she watches as a door opens and closes, followed by voices. “…ready for shipment by tomorrow?” a man’s voice said.

“Yes, sir,” said a female voice. “We have orders for chocolate chip and red velvet cookies ready, but we’re still waiting on the muffins.”

Y/N has the insane urge to laugh—all this sneaking around to overhear a conversation on cookies and muffins. But then the man speaks again, “Good. Any news on our little escapee?”

“We’ve found her, sir. And taught her a little lesson. I suspect she won’t try it again.”

“Please tell me it won’t scar. We need them pretty.”

“No, sir. She’ll be fine.”

She can’t see the man from behind her boxes, but maybe Jihoon can. Y/N’s eyes find Jihoon’s, and he nods. The man must be Park Hyunwoo. They’d found their target.

Footsteps, and the door opens and closes again. After a few breaths, Y/N and Jihoon head toward the center of the room and look around. There is a door where presumably Hyunwoo and the woman had gone through, but there is also a second floor to the loading area, a metal walkway, with a door up there as well.

Their eyes meet again, and Y/N begins to climb up the stack of boxes nearest to the walkway. She is about three feet away, which would require her to jump and grab onto the railing. Y/N tries not to look down, choosing instead to focus on the railing. A few stacks away, Jihoon has already made the jump, and is pulling himself onto the walkway; with that as motivation, she launches herself off the box and grabs onto the rail. Her right hand slips, though, and her left hand is slick with sweat. She clenches her teeth, trying to swing herself and use the momentum to get her right hand back on—

And she finds herself being pulled up by strong hands. Her right hand finds the railing and she swings her leg up, pushing and pulling herself onto the second floor. She and Jihoon both crouch, breathing hard. “Thanks,” she manages to gasp out. _For saving my life_ , she realizes.

Jihoon only nods in acknowledgment and stands up. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They exit the door and find themselves in a hallway lined with doors. Contrary to her expectations, there are no signs of windows—only plain white walls and doors. It occurs to Y/N that to get caught here would mean there is no way out, and with a shudder she quickens her pace, moving closer to Jihoon.

Y/N loses track of time, but eventually they find themselves into a more spacious area, with couches and tables, a variety of potted plants, and an unobstructed view of the outside via glass windows. “How are we going to find Hyunwoo? Maybe we should have followed him back there.”

“And risk getting caught? We’ve walked around on three different floors already, and they all had the same layout—those narrow hallways. There’s no way we could have gone unnoticed.”

“There’s no way they’re keeping all those girls in some hallway,” Y/N argues. “I’m sure there’s another hidden area somewhere, where they can keep a watch on all of them.”

“As much as I hate to say this, our mission isn’t about those girls. Our target is Park Hyunwoo, and to find him we need to get a sense of the building, where things are. We need to understand how he works, _where_ he works—we can’t do that very well if we just follow him everywhere without purpose. I don’t know how you’ve completed your missions before, but I heard you were good. I’m rather disappointed to find you’re so rash and blinded by your own feelings.”

And while Jihoon’s words make sense, she sees red. “This may just be about Park Hyunwoo to you,” she breathes, “but _why_ are we going after him in the first place? Because we were told to?” Y/N pokes Jihoon with a finger, forcefully enough to push him back a step. “I don’t know about you, but _I_ go after people because I know they deserve it. And those girls need help.”

“It’s not up to us to help them! _We_ are _dead_! We have no place here, no reason to interfere with what happens. We do what we’re told to do; it’s the only reason for us to even _be_. Once Hyunwoo is gone, they’ll be able to figure out their own lives. I will not waste my time justifying my actions, pretending it’s for some _noble_ purpose.” Jihoon’s face appears right in front of Y/N’s, his eyes tight with anger and some other emotion she can’t quite place. “We kill, you and I. That’s it. And those left behind find their own ways, for better or for worse.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say; she can feel that his anger is directed at something or someone beyond her. So she stays quiet, even as Jihoon’s face remains inches from hers, and the anger slowly ebbs away from him. “Maybe it’s time to call it a day,” she says softly. “Let’s head back.”

And just like that, the tension leaves Jihoon as he pulls away from her. “Let’s do that.”

\--  
Y/N and Jihoon find themselves in a dilemma: it’s snowing. Which makes it difficult to escape without leaving footprints.

“I don’t see a way around it,” Y/N says, snapping a branch off a nearby tree. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop snowing anytime soon—at least when it’s still falling, our prints can be hidden.”

“Alright,” Jihoon sighs. “Let’s go.”

He leads the way and Y/N runs behind him, using the branch to hide their footprints as best as they could. It still left a line, but Y/N was relying on the heavily falling snow to cover it up. Together, they climbed the fence without trouble, and miserably made their way back to the apartment, trudging through the snow.

By the time they get back, the sun has set and both are soaked through. Y/N’s hands are shaking hard enough that it took three tries to open the door, and with a sigh of relief, she finds that Yoon and Jeonghan have already come back. The heater is on; Y/N happily peels off her drenched coat and boots.

“How’d it go?” Jeonghan asks in greeting.

“Not good,” Jihoon replies without looking at Y/N, and walks straight into the room he shares with Jeonghan.

“I can tell,” Jeonghan says to the closed door. He turns back around to face Y/N and says apologetically, “He gets like that sometimes when things don’t go the way he plans. He’s quite a stickler for plans.”

 _I don’t think that’s it_ , Y/N wants to say, thinking about Jihoon’s words earlier. His words had bordered on despair as he had looked at her. _We kill, you and I. That’s it._

Y/N takes a much-needed hot shower, clearing her head and soothing her aching muscles. When she walks out of the bathroom, Jihoon still hasn’t emerged from his room, and Yoon and Jeonghan are in the kitchen. “What’s wrong with him?” Y/N asks without preamble.

Jeonghan shrugs, searching in a cupboard. “Like I said, he gets like that sometimes. Anyway, since he evidently DOESN’T WANT TO COOK, we can just EAT SOME RAMEN,” Jeonghan yells pointedly at the closed door.

Despite herself, Y/N smiles. Jeonghan is holding four bags instead of three, and impatiently waiting for the pot of water to boil. She is reminded again of home at the Academy, the feeling of being among friends and eating together—but these aren’t her friends. Or at least, Jeonghan most definitely isn’t her friend, even if he is mumbling under his breath at the pot to “boil faster and feed us or I’ll pour the whole damn thing down the sink and just eat the pot.”

“How did it go for you?” Y/N asks Yoon, who is being uncharacteristically quiet.

“It was fine,” Yoon replied vaguely. “We got a glimpse of her and that’s about it.”

“What she’s not saying,” says Jeonghan over the crinkling of the plastic ramen bags, “is that we saw her, then almost immediately got caught and spent the rest of our time trying to escape.”

“You sound strangely happy about it,” Jihoon comments, suddenly appearing beside Y/N and resting a hand on the back of her chair.

“Look who finally decided to show up after I’m forced to do all the cooking,” Jeonghan drawls. “And I’m happy because we got out. Aren’t you happy, Yoon?”

“Boiling water to make ramen doesn’t qualify as cooking,” Jihoon retorts, walking over to supervise Jeonghan. “And poor Yoon looks miserable. Pity she was stuck with you.”

“At least I _talk_ to her! I’m nice! I’m not sure you can say the same, Mr. Grumpypants.”

“I talk,” Jihoon grumbles.

“I’m sure you do,” Jeonghan says easily. “Now go sit. I don’t need you hovering over me while I make ramen. I’m not going to burn the house down.”

Hesitantly, Jihoon sits down across from Y/N. Moments later, Jeonghan carries over the pot of ramen, and Y/N brings over some disposable bowls and chopsticks that Jihoon had bought earlier. They make small talk as they eat, but Y/N notices that Yoon is still quiet and picks at her food. After a few more minutes, Yoon excuses herself and goes back to her room, shutting the door behind her.

“What exactly happened?” Y/N asks Jeonghan, who stares at the closed door.

“I told you,” he replies, shrugging, “but basically, there was a camera I didn’t spot. They found us and decided to bring us in for questioning. They dragged us kicking and screaming, of course, but like I said, we got away. Personally, I think she’s overreacting. We should be used to this by now.”

Y/N felt there was more to the story, but decides she would ask Yoon herself later. She finishes her bowl and excuses herself from the table. In the room, Y/N finds Yoon sitting on her mattress, staring blankly at the wall. “What’s wrong?” Y/N asks.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Yoon says, too quickly.

“Obviously something is bothering you.”

Yoon glares at Y/N with surprising venom. “Just because this is my first mission doesn’t mean you have to baby me, okay? I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“Alright,” Y/N replies, feeling a twinge of annoyance at her friend. She’s just trying to make sure Yoon is okay, after all. But she thinks about how the other girl must feel, thrust into such a complicated project as a first mission and finding herself almost caught and possibly killed. “But if you change your mind, I’m always here to listen.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” But Yoon doesn’t sound very grateful as she flops down onto the mattress and turns her back to Y/N.

Y/N squashes down a second wave of annoyance and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. She finds Jihoon washing the pot in the kitchen, and Jeonghan presumably in his room. She walks over to Jihoon, watching him for a while.

“If you’re going to stand there, you might as well say what’s on your mind. It’s creepy if you just stare,” Jihoon comments dryly.

“I think we should talk,” she begins.

“So talk.”

“Outside.”

“In this weather? It’s cold out.”

“So put on your coat, and I’ll make us some hot chocolate, and we’ll go outside.”

“Why?” Jihoon finally asks, turning to look at her. His tone isn’t angry—more bewildered and exasperated. “I don’t know how to make it any more obvious that I don’t want to talk to you. Just do what you have to do, and we’ll be done with our mission, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

Y/N doesn’t understand why Jihoon seems to hate her so much, especially when they were getting along fine earlier. But between him and Yoon, Y/N is getting rather tired of dealing with anger directed at her for no reason. She rolls her eyes. “Completing our mission goes hand-in-hand with talking to you—we’re both supposed to deal with Park Hyunwoo, or have you forgotten?”

“I don’t mean that bullshit mission,” Jihoon growls, voice dropping low enough that Yoon and Jeonghan wouldn’t be able to hear through the closed doors.

Y/N’s heart begins to pound. “What do you mean…?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Fine. Play dumb.” He opens the cupboard and takes out two packets of hot chocolate, slapping them onto the counter. “Make the hot chocolate; I’ll meet you on the back porch in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, both bundled in their still-wet coats and holding steaming plastic cups of hot chocolate wrapped in bundles of paper towels, Y/N and Jihoon stare at the twinkle of building lights in the distance. “Listen,” Y/N begins, “about earlier—why were you so upset?”

“Why do you need to know?” Jihoon looks at her curiously. “We met each other a day ago. You can’t really expect me to believe you care about me.”

“If we’re going to work together, I can’t have you exploding on me every other moment. We need to understand each other, if only not to get killed.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond.

“You said you’ve heard about me,” Y/N tries again. “How? And when?”

“Please. You’re legendary among the Daughters, aren’t you? Having accomplished the most missions at such a young age and all. And then the whole incident with your mentor.”

“No but—you’ve heard about the Daughters?”

Jihoon gives her a strange look. “Of course we have. The Sons and Daughters—we go hand-in-hand, don’t we? Although admittedly I’ve never met any Daughters before you and your friend. But the mystery is what makes you the source of all the rumors, I guess.”

When Y/N doesn’t respond, he narrows his eyes. “You haven’t heard of us?”

When Y/N doesn’t answer again, Jihoon laughs, a bitter sound. “Figures. I was wondering why, after all this time, they finally decided to let us meet.”

“I was wondering that too,” Y/N admits. “It’s unusual for them to give us two people at once, but it’s not unheard of.”

“You’re thinking of the wrong two people,” Jihoon says plainly.

“You’re talking like you have another mission,” Y/N says slowly, studying his reaction.

“You’re talking like you don’t,” Jihoon counters. “And I’m fairly certain ours are the same.”

“You mean…” Y/N trails off, looking behind them into the apartment.

“Yes.” Jihoon takes a long sip from his cup. “You asked why I was so upset earlier.”

“I did.”

“Jeonghan and I have been friends for as long as I’ve been a Son. He was there before me; I was new and lost and scared, and everyone at our Academy was so…competitive. It was always about who was the fastest, the strongest, who had the highest marks on exams…who was taller.” Jihoon clears his throat. “I was teased a lot for my height, so I grew timid. I focused more on history and theory classes because I didn’t have the confidence when it came to practice sessions. I became scared of people, and I only left my room when I had to.

“Jeonghan, for some reason, noticed me. You see how he is—he just emits this positive energy. Even with the competitive spirit at the Academy, he was liked by basically everyone. He was good at almost every subject, was always in the top 10…” Jihoon trails off, lost in his memories. After another sip of hot chocolate, he continues, “One day I heard knocking at my door and I was sure it was the bullies again. They had come by a few days earlier and dragged me down to the training room, where they claimed they were helping me by giving me ‘extra practice’. It was just an excuse to have their fun with me, because we all knew I was too weak to fight back properly.” Jihoon chuckles. “I was a sorry excuse for a Son back then; I wondered why He even chose me. I was scared of nearly everything.”

“So was it Jeonghan? The knocking, I mean,” Y/N asks, taking a sip from her own cup.

“Yeah, it was him. Imagine my surprise when I open my door and see one of the most popular guys standing right there. I was wary; I thought he was finally showing his true colors, and I was disappointed because I was thinking he actually seemed like a decent guy.

“I asked him what he wanted. He gave me the most innocent look, telling me he noticed how I always paid attention in class and did well on exams, but on the physical aspects he could see that I was struggling. I told him I already knew all that, and so did everyone else at the Academy, and if he didn’t get to the point I would close the door on him. It was an empty threat, of course; we both knew he could force his way in if he really wanted to.

“But he didn’t get angry and stayed where he was. He just looked at the bruises that I couldn’t hide, and told me that he wanted to let me know that if I ever needed help, he would be willing to practice with me outside of classes. At that point I’d heard enough; all the nasty ones said the same thing, would act nice until I opened up to them and then use it against me. I told myself I wasn’t going to fall for it again.

“Jeonghan was relentless, though. He started walking with me from classrooms to the training halls, and then from the training halls to my room. That got the bullies to give me a break, but it also made me become the talk of the entire Academy. Yoon Jeonghan the golden boy, hanging out with the infamous Lee Jihoon? They wondered if I had some kind of dirt on Jeonghan—some even approached me in hope of finding out what it was.” Jihoon gives an amused huff. “Of course they never got anything. I don’t know how Jeonghan did it, either. He never seemed bothered by the rumors or the fact that I never responded to him; he just kept right on talking.”

“That sounds like something he would do,” Y/N commented, thinking of Jeonghan’s unruffled positive attitude.

“Right. So one day as the training room emptied out, it was just Jeonghan and me in there. Jeonghan was chattering away as usual and I turned around and just punched him, right in the jaw. ‘Shut up,’ I told him. You know what that fucker did? He _laughed_ at me, while he was on the ground holding his face and all. He looked ridiculous.

“He laughed and told me, ‘I was wondering when you would finally do it.’ And then he gets up and goes, ‘But it was a little weak. Try to knock me out if you’re going to punch me like that. Here, make a fist.” So I did, and I was half-prepared for him to knock me out, but he just took my fist and demonstrated where and how I would have to hit him. That’s when I knew he really meant it, that he wanted to help me.”

“So Jeonghan taught you how to fight.”

“He saved my life,” Jihoon corrects her. “The bullies would have gone too far sooner or later; in fact, they tried to throw me down a well. Thanks to Jeonghan, I managed to throw one of them down instead, and the other two went running.” Seeing the look on

Y/N’s face, he snorted. “I pulled him out, don’t worry. But I let him ponder his decisions for a couple of minutes, and they never bothered me after that.” Jihoon has finished his hot chocolate, and he crushes the empty plastic cup in his hand.

Y/N takes a few moments to process this. “Not that I don’t appreciate the story, but what is it that you want me to say? That I won’t go after him just because he was good to you? I’m sure you saw the files, same as I did.”

“I did,” Jihoon confirms, straightening up. “I’m not going to ask you to ignore your mission—we both know what would happen. I’m not going to ask you to die for us. All I’m saying is that I know what kind of person Jeonghan is, and I can’t believe that he would have been able to kill those people.”

“Are you saying the file is fake?”

“No. I don’t know. Imagine if someone told you Yoon was a murderer—that she went rogue and used her gifts to kill innocent people; how would you feel?”

Y/N imagines Yoon, always smiling, dreaming of going to the outside world and meeting boys—Yoon, so simple and carefree…a murderer? “She would never,” Y/N begins, and then stops herself.

Jihoon offers a small, sad smile as he reaches for the door to head back inside. “That’s what I thought.”

Y/N crushes her own empty cup. She chooses to stay outside for a while longer, just to absorb everything that Jihoon has just shared with her.

It’s just as she reaches for the door to head back inside that the wind whispers in her ear, in her own voice from three years ago:

_“He would never.”_


	5. Part 4

_-09-_

_The strange man with long dark hair offered to hold her hand the entire time they walked through the darkness. Y/N initially nodded, but the moment his hand touched hers, she had involuntarily flinched. So he let go, and Y/N followed the sound of his footsteps in the dark. She was scared—she couldn’t see anything, and the image of the girl—no, it was_ her _—and those men still lingered in her mind.  
_

_And she was scared of the stranger, even if he seemed kind, even if he told her to call him Father because she was his Daughter. Y/N had never seen him before, and she was so, so tired and scared of everything. She wanted to go home, but the man said her parents would not be able to see her even if she did. The dead body on the ground—  
_

_“Calm your thoughts, child,” the man said quietly.  
_

_“Are we almost there yet? The Academy? Can’t I just go home? It’s okay if my parents can’t see me, as long as there’s food and stuff. And cake—I really want cake.” Y/N knew she was babbling, but she really didn’t want to go with this man anymore.  
_

_The man sighed and stopped walking. Y/N couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she felt his hand tug her back. “Y/N, I am not forcing you to come with me. This path will be a long and arduous one, and full of dangers. If you want, I can revoke your status as Daughter, and you will be free to go back to your world to do as you please. But know that unless you agree to move on, you will not find happiness. You will be stuck, unseen, in a world full of people you love and watch as they grow old and slowly leave you one by one.  
_

_“At that point, many spirits are too full of grief or anger to peacefully move on. They then are consumed by their emotions and whisper into the ears of the living, spreading their anger and hate. Thus mankind is helpless and commit crimes, after which the Daughters are called in. The more they give in to the demon, the greater their sins, and the shorter their lifespan. Unless someone can free them from their demons, they will continue along this path. Those who have fully succumbed to the whisperings of these demons, those to whom the Daughters are assigned, are beyond salvation.”  
_

_“I don’t know what that means,” Y/N whispered quietly.  
_

_“It means,” the man said with another sigh, “that if you really want to go back, you can. But your parents and friends won’t be able to see you. And so you’ll have to watch them grow old and one day they will die too. When that happens, you’ll most likely be very sad. And that means you won’t be able to follow them, because to move on, you have to be at peace with where you are and what has happened.”  
_

_“So I’ll be alone.”  
_

_“Yes.”  
_

_Y/N didn’t want that. “Why can’t I just move on now?”  
_

_“Technically, you could. But I can see that you have much anger and fear in your heart still. You are not at peace, so you cannot move on yet.”  
_

_“Oh.” She couldn’t argue with that. Her legs were still shaking.  
_

_“Do you still want to go back?”  
_

_“I don’t want to be alone.”  
_

_“Alright, then we will continue on to the Academy. We’re almost there.”  
_

_Y/N nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see her. But soon enough, the darkness cleared and she was greeted by an immense building, surrounded by a black iron fence. The gates were closed, but with an impatient flick of his hand, the man opened them. He led the way down the wide path to the castle-like building. Again, with a wave of his hand, the doors opened. Without a word he strolled into the building, Y/N hurrying to catch up. By the time she has made it up the giant black staircase, Y/N was breathing hard.  
_

_The man was already holding a door open and motioning for her to enter. A woman who looked about sixty was sitting at the desk, staring at Y/N so intensely that Y/N took a few steps back. “It’s all right,” the man said, putting a hand on Y/N’s back to steady her. “Agnes is in charge of the Academy. She just needs to talk to you for a bit.”  
_

_“Have a seat,” Agnes said, indicating the wooden chair in front of her desk. “What is your name, child?”  
_

_“Y/N,” she answered, staring at the floor. Looking at Agnes was too scary, so she wouldn’t.  
_

_“Y/N,” Agnes repeated. “So tell me, Y/N, what are you doing here?”  
_

_Y/N looked over to where the man was standing, and he gave her a small, encouraging smile. “He told me I would get training here. To be….a Daughter.”  
_

_“Right. And why do you want to be a Daughter?”  
_

_“To punish the men who…” Y/N didn’t want to talk about what the men had done to her. She can still see it, still feel imaginary hands on her even as she stares at her dirty dress. “To punish the bad men.” This time, she says it while looking Agnes in the eyes, as if daring the older woman to say no.  
_

_Agnes looked at the man with one eyebrow raised, and he nodded in answer to some unasked question. The man walked over to where Y/N was sitting, and took both of her hands in his. His hands were warm, and this time she didn’t flinch. “Listen to me, Daughter of mine. I have two warnings for you, things you must always remember. Are you listening?”  
_

_Y/N nodded.  
_

_“Good. Remember that danger lies in beauty, my child. Appearances are meaningless, and beauty is simple a tool to be wielded. There are always those who are beyond salvation, no matter how they seem to act. Trust in me and in your mentors here at the Academy, but above that, trust your instincts. They will guide you well.” And with that, the man stood, patted her head, and vanished between one blink and the next.  
_

_“Come, Y/N,” Agnes said from by the door. “You must be hungry; I will show you to the kitchen.”  
_

_When Y/N passed by Agnes, the woman took her hand. Y/N couldn’t say for sure what made her react so strongly, but she flinched and yanked her hand back, screaming, “Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone!” She was tired and her head hurt, and she was dead. She didn’t want to talk to strangers anymore. She wanted to go home.  
_

_Agnes looked shocked, but schooled her expression in a moment to a placating smile as she let go. “Perhaps you would prefer to be alone tonight. Very well, I will show you your room then, where you can wash up and get some rest.”  
_

_Y/N wordlessly followed Agnes up the stairs and down a hallway, where Agnes stopped in front of a door. She twisted the knob and the door opened. “This is your room,” Agnes said, stepping aside to allow Y/N a glimpse of the big room. Everything inside was white—the curtains, the bed, the shelves. “There is a bathroom, too,” Agnes continued. “Every Daughter is in charge of maintaining her own room, so you can decorate it however you please. However, that also means you are in charge of cleaning and doing your own laundry. Supplies are down the hall in a closet. Do you have any questions?”  
_

_Y/N shook her head.  
_

_“Then I will leave you now. Good night, Y/N.”  
_

_Alone in her room, Y/N felt disgusting. She felt dust and dirt clinging to her body, and she couldn’t stand the sight of the dress. She tore it off, tears streaming down her face, and ran into the bathroom. After a few moments of struggling, she turned on the shower and let the hot water stream down onto her. She used the shampoo and soap already provided, scrubbing herself once, twice, endlessly until her skin felt raw and her eyes were puffy from crying.  
_

_Y/N turned off the water and wrapped herself in the big gray towel hanging by the shower. Dripping wet and shivering from exhaustion, Y/N padded back to the bedroom. The closet is directly across from the bed, and she throws it open. There are a few shirts hanging inside, along with a pair of sweatpants and a pair of jeans. Everything was big on her, so she tucked the shirt into the waist of the sweatpants and tied it as tightly as she could. Then she rolled up the bottoms of the pants so she could walk without tripping over herself, and finally made her way over to the bed.  
_

_It was big and more comfortable than anything she’d ever experienced. The covers were heavy and warm. But despite her exhaustion, Y/N tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her mind would not quiet, and the sky was beginning to lighten by the time sleep found her.  
_

_She woke up to find that someone was shaking her. It was a girl, with long brown hair and a kind face. “Hi, I’m Anne,” the girl said. “I was sent to check on you and to take you down to dinner. You slept for the entire day.”  
_

_Anne raised a bag that she was holding. “I brought some of my old clothes for you, if you want to take a look. The standard shirts and sweats they put in all the rooms aren’t exactly stylish, and probably too big for you.”  
_

_Y/N sat up, intrigued by the bag despite herself. “Why?” she asked. Why bring her clothes when they’d never even met?  
_

_“We’re a family now,” Anne said easily, pulling out a few colorful shirts and sweaters as well as jeans, skirts, and sweatpants. “We’re all Daughters here, and besides, I live right down the hall. Here,” Anne said, holding up a peach-colored shirt. “This looks like it’ll fit you.”  
_

_“Thanks,” Y/N said hesitantly, taking the shirt with one hand. With the other, she pushed herself off the bed.  
_

_“Looks like you should try these on, too,” Anne chuckled, handing her a pair of jeans. “You’re swimming in those.”  
_

_Y/N accepted the jeans and wordlessly walked into the bathroom to change. She didn’t trust Anne, or anyone here—not yet. But it would be nice to have clothes that fit. And maybe a friend, if this was going to be her life now.  
_

_To her surprise, the clothes fit, even though they were a little big on her. Satisfied, Y/N walked back to the bedroom, where Anne saw her and beamed. “Great, they fit! I still have more old skirts and dresses that I don’t know what to do with—”  
_

_“No dresses,” Y/N said, eyeing her old dress still laying on the floor. “No skirts, either.”  
_

_Anne followed her gaze, and when she looked back at Y/N, her eyes were full of understanding. “No dresses or skirts,” she promised. “Now let’s go eat dinner.”  
_

_Anne led the way to the dining hall, where she showed where the trays and plates were kept and grabbed one for each of them. “There’s a bell to announce dinner,” Anne was saying while scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. “You probably slept through it; it rang about an hour ago. Food is served until eleven p.m. Here, do you want some seaweed soup?”  
_

_Throughout dinner, Anne chattered away despite admitting that “I’m not normally this talkative…if you need me to stop talking you can just tell me.” Y/N ate quietly and listened to Anne; the other girl was two years older than Y/N. Anne had been at the Academy for all eleven years of her life. Y/N was curious about the reason, but she didn’t feel like disclosing her own experience, so she remained quiet and continued listening. The older girl was explaining the rules of the Academy, the classes, and her schedule for the week.  
_

_“Because we don’t know when to expect a new addition to the Academy, there aren’t any divisions for classes. You’ll join all the beginner level courses, and if the instructor sees fit, will move you to a higher level. All these classes are designed to prepare you for missions, where we receive a target and go out into the human world. So we all take history, art, social science, and language courses, as well as physical training and courses for dealing with poisons. There are three sets of exams throughout the year, and those who rank higher have a better chance of being sent on a mission.”  
_

_Y/N frowned. “That sounds like a lot.”  
_

_Anne laughed. “It is, but after a while it becomes enjoyable. You’ll see—oh! The butterscotch lattes are out; they’re my favorite. Do you want to try one?”  
_

_It was hard to refuse Anne when she seemed so enthusiastic. “Okay.”  
_

_A few minutes later, Anne returned with two mugs of a creamy, sweet-smelling liquid. Anne blew on hers and took a long sip. “Try it,” she encouraged Y/N.  
_

_Y/N smelled it, then took a cautious sip. The latte was hot, but not scalding, and was very rich and sweet. “I like it,” Y/N admitted shyly, taking another sip.  
_

_Anne grinned and watched as Y/N finished her entire mug of butterscotch latte. When Anne finished hers as well, they dropped off the mugs in the kitchen to be washed, and headed back upstairs. Anne invited Y/N to see her room, which turned out to be very cozy with peach-colored walls and white and silver accents splattered throughout the room. It also smelled faintly of vanilla, and Y/N silently wondered where she could buy materials to decorate her own room.  
_

_As if reading Y/N’s mind, Anne explained that once a month, all the Daughters who weren’t cleared for missions could visit the human world. She suggested that they go to buy clothes and other supplies for Y/N, who agreed. With a smile, Anne wished Y/N good luck with her classes, and a good night. Full and warm, though still nervous and apprehensive, Y/N walked down the hallway to her own room, where she slept soundly that night.  
_

_Throughout the next few weeks, Y/N was thrust into the cycle of waking up, eating hurriedly, attending classes, eating dinner, finishing work for classes, and falling into exhausted slumber. She had to work extra hard to catch up to the others, especially in training. Sore, aching muscles plagued her every day, but despite her exhaustion, she was glad for the routine that didn’t give her any free time to overthink. Anne, who was also busy with classes, managed to stop by every night to check in on Y/N. She was touched by the gesture, and a bond of trust and friendship began to grow between the two.  
_

_Finally the day arrived for them to go shopping. The Daughters were divided into groups, with faculty as chaperones. Anne and Y/N watched impatiently as their history professor drew a portal. Y/N was fascinated by the swirl of darkness, and moved closer to Anne as they passed through. “I don’t like the darkness,” she whispered to Anne. “It’s scary.”  
_

_“I don’t think anyone likes it,” Anne whispered back. “We just don’t think about it.”  
_

_Their group finished passing through the portal, and were told to meet back in the same place by sunset. They all mumbled their assent, and Anne led Y/N to a nearby mall. “We go to a different place every time,” Anne explained to Y/N. “This time we’re in Chicago.”  
_

_They first stopped by a few clothing stores, where Y/N picked out new clothes and a pair of boots. Anne found a watch she liked, and the two took a break from shopping to eat ice cream. “So,” Anne began, “you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but how did you become a Daughter?”  
_

_Y/N thought back to the two men hovering over her. “I was…kidnapped,” Y/N began slowly. She trusted that Anne wouldn’t tell anyone. “There were two men. They…I…” Her breaths became faster, and suddenly her head was starting to spin.  
_

_“Shh,” Anne said, alarmed, reaching out to hug Y/N. “You’re okay now. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”  
_

_“I…they…in….it hurt,” Y/N babbled, tears streaming down her face. “I was screaming. And then…couldn’t breathe.”  
_

_Anne reached into her bag and took out a couple of tissues. Y/N wiped her face and blew her nose, then took a few deep breaths. She continued, “And then I was watching them kick a dead girl. They left, and I went over to the girl. This man came over and wouldn’t tell me who he was, but said that I was the girl. I was dead but I wasn’t supposed to be. He said that if I became his Daughter I could punish those men and people like them.”  
_

_“So you wanted to punish bad people.”  
_

_Y/N nodded. “But I didn’t really know what he meant at first. I just knew I was dead when I shouldn’t have been, and I couldn’t go home because no one could see me. I didn’t want to be alone.”  
_

_Anne nodded. “You’re a good person, Y/N. And I’m glad you chose to tell me. But…even though you have every reason to feel this way, I think that constantly being angry and constantly seeking revenge is bad. You shouldn’t let one event in your life define you. You have to remember who you were before, and find other things that make you happy, too.”  
_

_“Are you saying I shouldn’t want revenge?”  
_

_“No,” Anne said. “You can choose whatever motivator you need. I’m just speaking from experience that being blinded by anger and a thirst for revenge isn’t a good idea. You were someone before this, Y/N. If you lose that, then those men win, no matter how many missions you complete. So you can be angry, but you also have to know how to be happy.”  
_

_“I don’t know if I can. Be happy. I don’t know if I can be the person I was before.” Y/N looked at the ground. “I loved wearing dresses and playing with my toys. I had pretend tea time with my friends. I don’t like those things anymore. I don’t want to wear dresses after what happened.”  
_

_“You can,” Anne said fiercely. “You can be happy. It’ll take time, but you are strong. It doesn’t matter what you choose to wear. I understand why you wouldn’t want to touch another dress, but remember they’re just another piece of clothing. And as long as you have something you like, that gives you joy, you can be happy.”  
_

_Y/N knew she should probably thank Anne, but her emotions were all over the place. She also knew that Anne was right, and that she needed to find her own happiness in this new life she was given. Even though her experience would drive her, she wouldn’t let those men win. But it would take time, and she wasn’t there yet. So she just nodded.  
_

_“Actually, let’s go back to shopping. I want you to help me pick out a dress,” Y/N said. She wouldn’t wear it, not yet--maybe not ever. But she wanted to have it just in case she ever felt like wearing one._

 

_-16-_

_“Adachi Yuuto._

_“20 years old, guilty of six murders, details listed below._

_“Grew up as an orphan, but bounced from family to family, as he kept causing trouble. He officially works as a cashier at the convenience store near his home, but frequently skips due to his nighttime activities of drinking and gambling.”_

_Indeed, below the next listed six names, three females and three males, all of whom lived within a mile radius of him. They all were regular customers of the gambling den Yuuto visited, and all killed within the past year. Of course, as gambling is illegal in Japan, these people weren’t completely innocent either—most also ran illicit businesses._

_“So? What do you think?”_

_Y/N looked up from the paper and turned toward the voice of her mentor, Anne. “It seems like he’s a lot more complicated than our last mission,” she told Anne seriously._

_Anne only laughed and ruffled Y/N’s hair affectionately. “Of course he is. It’s your eighth mission now, and we trust you to be able to handle increasingly difficult people.” Anne nudged Y/N, who finally cracked a smile. “It’s a sign that they’re trusting you_ _more,” Anne whispered conspiratorially._

_“You think so?” the younger girl asked with wide eyes. They had begun as friends, but ever since Anne had been assigned as Y/N’s official mentor, she had taken the role seriously—praise from Anne was rare but always heartfelt._

_“Of course I think so,” Anne replied, standing up. Y/N followed suit. “Now, Y/N, tell me: where are we going?”_

_“Nagano,” Y/N answered. “Looking for Adachi Yuuto, a murderer.”_

_Anne smiled and ruffled Y/N’s hair again. “Good. Now go to your room and start packing; we’re supposed to leave by the end of the day. I’ll go talk with Agnes, and I’ll meet you by the front gates after dinner.”_

_Y/N nodded and bounded up the stairs and into her room. She was already getting used to what she would have to bring with her—some clothes to change into, shampoo and soap, knives and belts, some snacks she’d snuck into her room, and of course, her stuffed bear Charles. She knew that she was much too old to be carrying him with her, but he reminded her of home. So Y/N placed him gently into her suitcase and looked around one last time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She scanned her white walls and the various shelves in her room, filled with books and weapons. Then she headed into the dining hall for dinner._

_Y/N found her friends Yoon and Sara already sitting down at a table in the corner. They had become good friends when Anne had begun her missions and Y/N had been forced to find company with other classmates. She carried her tray of food over and joins them, and the three girls talked animatedly about imagined scenes in Y/N’s upcoming mission._

_“I can’t believe it’s already your eighth mission,” Sara commented. “We started at around the same time, and I’ve only been on two.”_

_“Yeah, well,” Yoon replied, “That’s two more than I’ve been on.”_

_Her friends’ words make Y/N uncomfortable; it was true that she has been assigned an unusual amount of missions, especially for someone so new. But she figured it was because her Older Sister was Anne, Agnes’ favorite, rather than any of Y/N’s particular skills. “I don’t know why I’ve been assigned so many,” she admitted. “But I’m kind of nervous for this one.”_

_“What if he’s really handsome and you end up falling for him?” Yoon sighs, spearing a piece of cantaloupe._

_Y/N stared at Yoon in horror._

_Sara shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find you like a little bit of—” Sara wiggled her brows—“ action in your love life.”_

_Yoon squealed at that, and the three of them burst into laughter again, even though they all knew Y/N was indifferent to the thought of romantic relations with men, after what she had been through. When their stomachs were full and the conversation lulled,_

_Y/N stood up, taking her tray and saying goodbye to her friends. “I’ll see you two soon,” she promised._

_Sara and Yoon stand up to hug her. “Be safe,” Sara told her._

_“Yeah,” Yoon agreed, “don’t do anything reckless. We’ll be waiting for you here.”_

_With a final wave, Y/N separated herself from her friends and headed upstairs to stock up on poisons from Dora. “Y/N!” Dora exclaimed the moment she walks into the brewery. “Heading out?”_

_“Yes,” Y/N replied, heading over to watch Dora stir a pot on the stove. “I need to restock on Frostbreath—“_

_“And Angel’s Kiss, yes, I know,” Dora interrupted with a smile. “They’re sitting on the counter waiting for you. I also made a vial of a new concoction I call Shadowmist; it should devour the person from the inside out. Very painful, very gruesome. You don’t have to test it out on this mission, but let me know the results whenever you do.”_

_Y/N spotted three vials sitting on the counter, as promised. “You’re the best, Dora,” she told the older woman, giving her a hug._

_Dora huffed, but looked pleased. “Of course I am. You hurry along now, before Anne yells at me for holding up the mission. And be safe.”_

_Y/N headed towards the stairs, vials in hand. “I will!” she calls as she half-runs down the stairs to her room. Anne would not be pleased by her tardiness; she could already see her mentor’s face, frowning. Hurriedly, she packs the vials into her suitcase and carries it down the stairs. As expected, Anne was already waiting by the front gates as promised._

_“You’re late,” Anne said, by way of greeting. “I thought I asked you to come right after dinner. Which presumably would have been fifteen minutes ago.”_

_Y/N winced inwardly. “Yes, I know. I—ah—lost track of time.” While gossiping with her friends._

_Anne straightens up, fixing a glare. “How many times do I have to tell you that we can’t afford to be distracted when we’re on missions? Things happen when you least expect them to; you have to be ready for anything. And that begins with being aware of your surroundings and your situation. It especially means that you meet up with me when we agree to, or else I will be forced to assume the worst. That’s how it is, in our line of duty. We can’t afford to be careless.”_

_It’s a speech Y/N has heard many times before, so she just looks down toward the ground and murmurs, “Yes, Anne.”_

_Anne sighed and drew the portal. “Let’s go,” she said, and stepped through the growing black hole._

_Y/N followed closely behind her mentor. Even though she should have been used to it by now, it still scared her, the unending darkness. Sometimes she thought she saw figures surrounding them, and would press closer until Anne snapped at her to stop whimpering and be alert._

_The darkness finally cleared and deposited them where they would be staying until the end of the mission: a small ryokan, with a small garden encased by a short brick wall. It was nighttime here, and Y/N breathed in the cool air. “Well,” Anne said, speaking in Japanese. “We’re here.”_

_“It’s nice,” Y/N said. “Do we each get our own room this time?”_

_Anne studied the piece of paper in her hand. “It seems so.”_

_Y/N followed Anne into the ryokan, where they checked in and received the keys to their rooms. Y/N’s was a small one in the corner of the ryokan, with a window providing a nice view of the garden. She set her suitcase down and inspected the closet, which held her futon, pillow, and blankets. There was a knock on her door, and she looked up to see Anne entering. “Yuuto is supposed to live in the area,” Anne began._

_“Should we visit the convenience stores, then? Since he’s supposed to work in one.”_

_“Yes, but not right now,” Anne replied, checking her watch. “It’s late, and he works morning shifts anyway. He gambles at night, remember.”_

_“Right.”_

_Anne reached for the door. “We’ll head out at sunrise. Until then, get some rest. I expect it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”_

_“Alright. Good night, Anne.”_

_“Good night, Y/N.”_

_Once Anne left, Y/N laid out her futon and pillow and took out Charles, but felt too restless to sleep. She decided to take a walk, and knocked on Anne’s door, the room next to hers. “Come in,” Anne called._

_It was dark in Anne’s room; she was lying down. “I can’t sleep, so I’m going out to get some fresh air,” Y/N told her._

_“That’s fine,” Anne replied. “Just be careful, and don’t go unarmed.”_

_Y/N patted the knife hidden by her waist. “Got it.”_

_Y/N slid the door shut, and pocketed her keys. She made her way onto the street outside. It was early spring, and she breathed in the crisp night air. It was chilly, but pleasantly so; it calmed her as she walked down the sloping roads. Y/N found a park a few blocks away from the ryokan and headed towards the swing set, where she sat down and stared at the full moon above._

_“It’s nice, isn’t it?” said a deep voice from behind her. Y/N jumped; she hadn’t seen anyone when she sat down earlier._

_When she turned around, Y/N saw that it was a boy around her age, dressed in all black and with the hood of his sweater pulled up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, walking closer and sitting down on the swing beside her. He smelled slightly of alcohol. “I was just walking by and saw someone here, which is unusual—most of the time it’s empty this late at night.”_

_Y/N studied him silently. He was tall; his long legs stretched out as he craned his neck to look up at the moon. He had delicate hands with long, slender fingers, and a soft face framed by slightly too-long sideswept bangs._

_He noticed her stare, and looked sideways at her, face still pointed up. “You’re not from around here, are you? You don’t look familiar.”_

_“I’m not,” Y/N finally replied. “My sister was looking for a job and decided to drag me along. I don’t mind, though—it’s nice here.”_

_“Ah,” the boy said, smiling. He had a nice smile. “Me, I’ve always wanted to move away. I’ve lived here for the past ten years—I’m tired of seeing the same people and places.”_

_His words reminded her of Yoon, and Y/N felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. After going on missions—being in different countries, speaking different languages and meeting all sorts of people—Y/N couldn’t imagine being stuck in one place for a long time anymore. “Can’t you go on vacation with your family? Or even school trips,” Y/N suggested, remembering the Japanese school tradition of class trips._

_The boy’s eyes turned wary. “I’m only telling you this because we’re strangers,” he admitted. “But my family hates me, and I’m an outcast at school.”_

_“Your family hates you? That sounds like an extreme statement—are you sure it’s not just because of an argument or something?” Y/N knew she should stop talking, but she rarely had the chance to speak to people who weren’t Sisters—in fact, whenever she did, it was with the purpose of collecting information. Besides Yoon and Sara, she had never truly enjoyed speaking to anyone her age._

_He laughed, looking down at the ground. His knuckles turned white where they held onto the swing’s chains. “Yeah, I’m sure. See, I’m a foster kid—they’ll never love me as much as their own child, my foster sister. She hates me because she was used to being spoiled as an only child, and thinks her parents have to divide their attention between me and her. The parents hate me because the father just lost his job and I’m another mouth to feed. It’s like I’m just some kind of pet they’re taking care of.” He spits out the last part bitterly._

_“Are you sure they hate you though?,” Y/N questioned, then stopped when she saw the look on his face. She switched topics before he decided to close her out. “Is that why you’re out so late? Did they do something to you?”_

_The boy looked at her curiously. “I think,” he said slowly, eyes shining, “you’re the first person to actually care about me.”_

_“Well, no, ‘ care ’ is a bit exaggerated—”_

_“No, they didn’t do anything to me,” the boy said, laughing. “But I guess I should be honest with you—I’ve caused trouble. I’m not a nice person. I was tired of being ignored, of people acting like I didn’t exist. So I tried everything. At first, I tried to be the best son—I cooked, I cleaned, I welcomed them home and did my best in school despite being an outcast. But nothing changed. So I said, fuck it. I played around, I skipped classes.” He shrugged. “I don’t go home until two or three in the morning.”_

_“What do you do, then?”_

_The boy stood up, avoiding her eyes. “I walk around,” he said vaguely._

_“For hours?” Y/N asked incredulously._

_“Like I said, I’m not the best person. My name’s Yuuto,” he said as he walked away. “If I were you, I would avoid running into me. I can’t guarantee I’ll be this chatty next time.”_

Yuuto? _Y/N’s blood ran cold. She had just met her target—not only that, she’d had an entire conversation with him, and most unnervingly, she felt sorry for him. Y/N didn’t know what it meant that she sympathized with him for wanting to explore the world outside, for working hard just to prove to others that he was good enough—and then to be ignored…the poor boy._

_Y/N shook her head, standing up. It was time to head back. Sympathizing with your enemy was never a good thing. But Yuuto hadn’t seemed like a murderer; he had just seemed like a lonely boy in need of friendship._

_By the time Y/N got back to the ryokan, the clock on the wall claimed it was one in the morning. She changed into comfortable clothes and promptly fell asleep on her futon._

_She woke up to light streaming in through the paper-lined window. She cursed; Anne had said they would leave at sunrise. That gave her about five minutes before—_

_There was pounding on her door, followed by Anne’s impatient voice calling, “Hurry up or I’m leaving without you!”_

_“Yeah, coming!” Y/N shouted back, hurried folding the futon and blanket. She threw on a pair of black jeans and a plain off-white t-shirt, and grabbed her light black jacket—it was early spring, after all, and tended to be chilly. Y/N slipped on a pair of socks and stuffed her feet into her shoes by the door. She grabbed a few knives, hiding them beneath her clothes, and slipped a vial of Angel’s Kiss into her jacket pocket. Then she half-ran out of her room and found Anne waiting at the ryokan’s entrance._

_Anne began walking once she saw Y/N. They were half a block away from the ryokan by the time Y/N caught up just in time to hear Anne say, “…so I was thinking we should check the convenience stores in a couple of hours. We can just scout around for now.”_

_Y/N, slightly out of breath, asked, “Why do you think Yuuto killed all those people?”_

_Anne gave Y/N a sideways look. “Some people don’t need a reason to kill. They somehow just find pleasure in it.”_

_“But he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that,” Y/N mused. “And he’s about my age. There’s also his family history…” Y/N trailed off as Anne focused on her._

_“You met him, didn’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question._

_“I did,” Y/N admitted. “I was at the park while I took a walk, and he happened to be there. And we talked a little bit. He told me about his foster family, and honestly…he seems like a normal person to me, even if he does have major family problems.”_

_“Y/N…people like Yuuto are good at keeping up appearances. It’s how they get away with everything. Remember that his name was given to you on a profile, and he’s marked by Death. We’re not making guesses here; he is guilty, and we are tasked with delivering him into the hands of our Father.” Anne lifted Y/N’s chin so that they made eye contact. “Do you understand?”_

_“I do.” Anne was right; she always was. Her words made sense; there must have been some reason Yuuto was able to keep successfully killing—it was probably his charm. Yuuto was probably scheming something right now, and they had to make sure no other casualties happened before they finished their mission. Nothing had happened in the past two weeks, and Yuuto had a pattern; each of his kills had occurred within a month of each other._

_Anne nodded and softened. “Good. Let’s go, then. I know it’s hard, and I know how easy it can be to trust them. But we don’t survive by blindly trusting their words.”_

_Y/N led Anne to the park where she had met Yuuto mere hours before. They explored the neighborhood for a while, and Anne suggested they split up to visit the eight convenience stores that Anne had marked on a map. “Meet back at the ryokan at six,” Anne said._

_Following the map, Y/N visited three of the four stores that were circled to no avail. Finally, she stopped in front of the final one, about a mile away from the ryokan. Y/N took a deep breath and walked inside, hoping that she had not just wasted her day away._

_At the counter, she saw the cashier bent down to play with a child who was standing there. The little girl was giggling as the cashier, a teenaged boy, made a little plastic toy wave at the child. “Emi, let’s go,” said a woman who was presumably the girl’s mother. “Let the older brother here get back to work.” The girl frowned, but went to take her mother’s hand. “Thank you for indulging her,” she said to the boy._

_“It’s really no problem. She’s sweet,” he replied. As he straightened up to his full height, Y/N got a glimpse at his face—it was Yuuto. Yuuto smiled at the little girl, who giggled again. The mother and daughter left, and Yuuto looked at Y/N, standing by the door. “Welcome,” he greeted her with the obligatory employee greeting, but continued with, “we meet again, I see.”_

_“You work here?” Y/N asked, only half-feigning surprise. She hadn’t really expected to be successful. “Don’t you have school?” Most students, even when classes were over, stayed for extracurriculars._

_“Like I said,” said Yuuto, sitting down and resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on the counter, “I’m an outcast. I’m not really welcome.”_

_“Oh,” was all Y/N could think of to say as she wandered into the aisle containing various types of instant ramen. She grabbed a few packs and walked over to the register, where Yuuto rang up the items with a quick efficiency._

_“What about you?” Yuuto asked as he put her ramen in a bag. “Don’t you have school?”_

_Y/N accepted the bag with a murmur of thanks. “No, I took time off to come here with my sister. Speaking of, I should probably head back before she wonders where I am.”_

_Yuuto gave her a bright smile and nodded. “Get home safe. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”_

_“Thanks, you too. And maybe, if you visit the park again.” With a wave, Y/N hurried out of the convenience store._

_Back at the ryokan, Y/N told Anne what had happened, and how she had found Yuuto. “If we can get him alone at the park, then it will be easier to get this mission over with,” Anne said, stretching. “Good work, Y/N.”_

_Y/N smiled at Anne, but was still conflicted as she tossed and turned in bed. She still hadn’t sensed any malicious intent from Yuuto; if anything, seeing him again reinforced her idea of Yuuto simply being a lonely and neglected boy._

_Over the next week, Y/N strolled to the park every night out of curiosity for the boy. Every night, just as Y/N was going to leave, Yuuto would show up and strike a conversation with her. Sometimes she would catch the reek of alcohol on him, but most of the time he seemed sober. They talked about his family, his classmates, his work. In return, Y/N would make up stories about her “sister” Anne, and their parents. The more they talked, the more Y/N felt that Yuuto was being unjustly framed—maybe there had been a mistake somewhere, and Yuuto’s name had been put down instead of the real murderer. How could this boy, with his innocent smile and sad eyes, possibly murder six people in cold blood? All he wanted was for his foster family to acknowledge him—_

_Y/N’s heart went out to the boy. And although she had had many opportunities to finish the mission in one strike, she could never bring herself to._

_One night, as Y/N just left the premises of the park, Yuuto’s voice called out, “Y/N!”_

_She turned around and saw that he was standing near the swings, waving at her. With a tired smile, she waved back and began to walk towards him. Y/N really was tired—she had only gotten an average of four hours of sleep for the past week._

_“Let’s go sit over there,” Yuuto said as Y/N got closer, pointing to a spot on the grass nearby. “You can see the moon well from there.”_

_Y/N nodded. Together they strode over to the grassy area and sat down. “You’re right. The moon is so bright today,” Y/N marveled as she placed her hands behind her, leaning back._

_“Almost the full moon,” Yuuto commented with a grin. He also leaned back, his hand grazing Y/N’s._

_Y/N had never been comfortable with physical contact ever since that night six years ago, but for some reason she didn’t mind Yuuto’s hand touching hers. They stared in silence for a while at the moon._

_“I wanted to ask you something,” Yuuto said, his mouth right beside her ear. Y/N wasn’t sure when he had gotten so close; she chided herself for not noticing._

_“What?” she whispered, staying perfectly still. He was too close, and she really wanted to lean back. Y/N began to inch away when Yuuto’s hand, which had been covering hers, reached out to wrap behind her neck._

_Too close—he was too close, and she didn’t want him touching her. She didn’t want anyone touching her, not so possessively, not without warning. But he leaned closer, even as she struggled to break his hold. “I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Yuuto whispered into her ear. He let go of her neck, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her waist in a hug. “Why did you lean away? I thought we were friends.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Y/N gasped, even as her heart rate surged and her breaths became quicker. She couldn’t get enough air—he wasn’t hurting her, but she didn’t want to be held—“we are friends, but I don’t like people touching me. Please let go.”_

_Yuuto let go, but he now had a strange look in his eyes. Hurt, and something else that Y/N couldn’t identify. But once he wasn’t touching her anymore, Y/N was able to calm herself down. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just…had a bad experience when I was little, and I don’t like people touching me.”_

_“I understand,” Yuuto said stiffly, with the strange look still on his face. “Would it make a difference if I asked first?”_

_“It would,” Y/N admitted. “That way I have time to prepare myself.”_

_“Prepare yourself,” Yuuto mused. “Well, whatever. Okay. It’s late—you probably should head back, right?”_

_“Right,” Y/N said, standing up._

_“I’ll walk you back,” Yuuto announced suddenly. “It’s not safe for you to be walking alone this late at night.”_

_“I’ve been fine this whole week,” Y/N pointed out. “I’ll be fine. But thank you.”_

_“No, we’re friends now. I’ll walk you back,” Yuuto said stubbornly._

_In the end, the two of them walked back to the ryokan together. Friends, Y/N mused. Besides Anne and a handful of classmates at the Academy, there was no one she would call her friend. How was she supposed to kill her “friend” and finish her mission?_

_At the entrance to the ryokan, Yuuto lingered awkwardly. “Is it…okay…if I hug you goodbye?” Yuuto asked._

_Y/N nodded, hoping to not hurt his feelings by saying she had had enough physical contact today for the entire month. He shyly wrapped his arms around her, and she awkwardly returned the gesture, patting his back a few times. But by the time she let go, he was still holding onto her tightly. “You can let go now,” she said into his chest, clearing her throat._

_“No.” She felt his chest vibrate with the word; she couldn’t see his face. Y/N felt him shift, and all of a sudden she felt a blinding pain in her waist._

_Yuuto finally let go, and Y/N stumbled. There was a knife buried in her side, and blood was slowly leaking out, staining her shirt. “You…”_

_“I thought we were friends,” Yuuto said, taking a few steps back as if just now realizing what he had done._

_“I…thought we were too,” Y/N gasped out, cradling her side. “But you…”_

_“You rejected me!” Yuuto cried. “Just like everyone else! You pretended to like me, to listen to me, and then when I finally trusted you, you showed that you couldn’t stand the sight of me!”_

_“That’s…not it,” Y/N began, but Yuuto was already pulling another knife that was hidden in his pants leg._

_Y/N pulled the knife out from her side with a cry. She pressed one hand against the wound, the other shakily pointing the knife at Yuuto. “I wanted to help you,” she whispered._

_“No, you didn’t,” he growled, approaching Y/N. She was dizzy with blood loss, and her hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Yuuto easily knocked the knife out of her hand, and stuck his knife by her neck._

_“Put that down,” a voice said from the ryokan._

_Yuuto whipped his head in the direction of the voice; Y/N tried her best to see who it was without moving her head._

_It was Anne, glowering, a knife in each hand. “I said, put that down,” she repeated._

_“I can cut her throat faster than you can get over here,” Yuuto said, eyes wide and panting heavily._

_“Yuuto, it doesn’t have to be like this—” Y/N tried._

_“You shut up,” Anne said harshly. “I told you not to trust him. Yet you sneak out, every night, to talk to this boy who wants to kill you.”_

_Yuuto glanced back at Y/N. “You…snuck out to see me?”_

_Y/N didn’t answer; she stared down at the knife pressed against her neck._

_“Did you consider me a friend? You—” Yuuto slumped forward suddenly, his grip on the knife slackening. Y/N took the opportunity to break free from his grasp, and saw that he had a knife in his back._

_“Anne!”_

_“What, did you want me to let him kill you?” Anne said, kicking at his limp form. “I don’t know why I trusted you to finish the job.”_

_Y/N knelt next to Yuuto, shaking him. His eyes were closed, all his muscles relaxed._

_Anne crouched down on his other side, examining him. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go—”_

_Just then, Yuuto’s eyes opened, and he tightened his grip on the knife still in his hand. He lunged forward, shoving the knife into Anne’s chest. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she fell back onto the ground._

_“Anne!” Y/N cried, scrambling over to her mentor._

_Yuuto was sprawled on the ground, breathing hard. He studied Y/N in fascination. “We’re friends,” he gasped out, his eyes bright. “I have a friend.”_

_“Not anymore, you don’t,” Y/N growled, turning to face him. Anne was coughing weakly, a wet sound. There was no way she could make it; Y/N was no healer, and they would never make it to the Academy in time. “She was my friend. And you killed her. You almost killed me.”_

_“I didn’t know—” Yuuto began, his eyes wide._

_Y/N grabbed the knife from his hand; in shock, he offered no resistance. “Whatever we might have had, it’s gone. This is for killing my best friend. And the other six.”_

_He only stared wordlessly with his wide eyes as she plunged the knife into him._

_When his body was still, blood seeping across the ground, Y/N slowly slung Anne’s limp arm around her shoulder, doing her best to draw a portal with one hand. She would come back for his body--the Gleaning. But Anne came first._

_As Y/N stepped into the darkness with her dead mentor’s body, she turned around and looked one last time at the boy who in another world could have been her friend, the boy who was her sister’s killer._

_A boy she should not have trusted._


End file.
